


The Middle Ground

by Milliadoc_Brandybuck



Series: The Middle Ground [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ante-Natal Depression, Bastardy in Westeros, Canon Compliant, Consensual Sex, Depression, Ending Divergent, F/M, Feminist ideals, First Love, First Woman in the Nights Watch, Forbidden Love, Friendship more than love, Friendship/Love, Game of Thrones - Freeform, Jon Snow Knows Something, Love Triangles, Miscarriage, Multi, North, Northern beauty, Original House, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-partem Depression, Prophetic Dreams, Realistic mental health, Romantic Friendship, Smut, Stark - Freeform, Strong Female Characters, The Bastard Queen, The North Remembers (ASoIaF), The North remembers, The secret treasure, Ties in with my other fic, Trust, Uncle Davos, Unconventional Happy Ending, Unconventional Relationship, Wildlings - Freeform, Wolves, dolphin - Freeform, jon snow's wife, post-natal depression, sex scenes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:18:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 41
Words: 158,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21838810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milliadoc_Brandybuck/pseuds/Milliadoc_Brandybuck
Summary: “When you play the game of thrones, you win or you die. There is no middle ground.”Whilst the Houses are battling for the throne, the little folk get trapped.Dria Tawn is a refugee of Dauphin in the Narrow Sea. She was taken in by the Starks and fell in love with their bastard. But their love is forbidden and they are separated when Dria must go to Kings Landing with Ned Stark and his daughters. When she and Arya flee the capital, Dria finds herself falling for a blacksmith they befriend along the way. She must choose between duty and love when she is reunited with Jon, after all our first love isn't always going to be our lasting love.To be clear, this is a love triangle fic between Dria, Jon and Gendry. The way Ao3 tags work is they put the most popular first, which is why it probably comes up as a Jon/OC fic before it comes up as Gendry/OC. Either way - it's a well thought out story that touches on real-life issues of relationships, mental health and loyalty wrapped up in a Westerosi bow.Thank you to the lovely people who comment nice things, you're all lovely and I thank you for reading this!The rest of you who continuously comment abuse and negativity, I don't want your hits.
Relationships: Gendry Waters/Original Female Character(s), Jon Snow/Gendry Waters/Original Female Characters, Jon Snow/Original Female Character(s), Love triangle - Relationship
Series: The Middle Ground [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1573510
Comments: 88
Kudos: 32





	1. Episode 1: Love Without Boundaries (Pt. 1)

**Author's Note:**

> This may contain spoilers for the plot but I’m getting so much abuse for tagging it as a “Jon/OC” fic (which it is), but it’s ALSO a Gendry/OC fic (which is also tagged!)  
> Because I’m getting so many negative comments about this being a love triangle I think I need to make this clear. 
> 
> Dria, throughout this fic, shows signs of Close Range Attraction Disorder, a cousin of Stockholm Syndrome. I.e: her love for Jon feels real when they’re together but as the fic goes on and they are separated and she meets someone else, she learns that her love for Jon was more DUTY than anything else: he was there at the time. They both come to realise that they’re relationship was built on being the only ones in each other’s lives and eventually they will (SPOILERS) let each other go to be with their true love. 
> 
> If you want a simple Jon/OC fic... this isn’t it.  
> If you want a complex story of love or duty and to see the series through an OCs eyes, then read on.  
> If you want a Gendry/OC fic you’re in the right place. 
> 
> Peace, stay safe, love you all 💖
> 
> This story was never intended as a love story for Jon Snow, nor was it for Gendry. It was intended as a journey taken by a confused, frightened young girl who gradually grows into a strong, confident woman who chooses what she wants.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon Snow secretly marries his childhood sweetheart.

A great deal of the forces of Winterfell were occupied in the Great Hall as they entertained the King and his family. Lord Eddard Stark was at the head table with his wife and his true-born sons and daughters shared a table not far away. At the back of the hall where nobody could see him slip out sat Jon Snow, Lord Stark’s bastard son. Jon was seventeen years old and resembled his father in stature and hair only, everything else, he assumed, he owed to his mother. Either way there was nothing identifying him as Ned Stark’s bastard save for the gossip that surrounded him everywhere he went. The family were kind enough, he owed the eldest son, Robb, and Robb’s fiancee Edeline Bolton a debt of gratitude. They had always treated him like a part of the family and for that he was grateful. His younger half-sister Arya, in fairness, had always been kind to him also. She seemed to identify something in him that he could not put his finger on. Besides them, nobody else in the family seemed to care what he did or said, least of all Lady Catelyn Stark, Ned’s wife. Jon understood, she must have been very hurt by her husband's betrayal that had ended in his conception and subsequent birth. Jon had always said Catelyn was as kind as she was able. Either way they were all distracted as Jon slipped out of the hall and out into the stableyard. He had matters to attend to elsewhere nonetheless and nobody would notice his absense.

He was in the middle of practicing his archery against a haybail when he felt someone watching him. He turned around to see her standing there.

Adria Tawn was ladiesmaid to Arya Stark. She was sixteen years old with pale skin, bright turquoise eyes, long brown hair and she was the most beautiful woman Jon had ever seen. Since they had first met years ago and Jon had felt a connection. Adria had been born on the island of Dauphin in the Narrow Sea. Her father Simeon had been the Lord of the Tawn family, the richest family in Dauphin and the closest thing they had to a ruling family, until civil war between him and her uncle had caused her to flee with her mother at the age of thirteen. Their boat had been dashed and her mother killed, and Adria had washed ashore just East of White Harbour where Ned had been visiting at the time. He had taken her home as a guest and offered her shelter in exchange for loyalty to the family. After Arya had taken a shine to Adria, Ned had appointed her the position of ladiesmaid. Adria and Jon had grown close shortly afterwards.

“You know I hate it when you sneak up on me.” Jon pouted with a smile. Adria shrugged a little in her dark cloak.

“But I’m so good at it.” Adria teased as she stepped closer to him. He rolled his eyes and put down his bow as she reached him, and slid her arms around his waist and kissed him. He let her for a moment before pulling away.

“Dria. What if someone sees?” He said with a sigh.

“Will it matter after tonight?” Adria asked.

“Even after tonight it’ll matter if Lady Stark or Sansa see.” Jon gently removed her arms from his waist but he gave her hand a small squeeze.

“When are you going to tell your father?” Dria frowned.

“When it’s relevant.”

“Why should it matter? Has your father ever indicated that he will legitimise you?”

“Well, no.”

“So you’re never going to marry a great Lady.”

“You are a great Lady.” Jon said softly, his fingers twisting the ends of her long plait.

“I was. House Tawn belongs to my uncle now. I’m just a servant.”

“It’s just as well.” Jon smiled warmly at her. “If you were not a servant, and I was not a bastard, then tonight could not happen.”

“When can we go to the Godswood?”

“As soon as Robb can break away from the feast.” Jon shrugged.

“And you are sure you trust him not to tell your father? That his loyalty of duty will not take hold?”

“He hasn’t even told Edeline.” Jon shrugged. “I doubt he’ll tell father.” He frowned. “I just wish the King had not descended.”

“This was a complication we did not see.” Dria bit her lip as she looked up at the castle. Even after just three years in Stark custody she had developed a thick Northern accent.

“No matter.” Jon said. “I will have married you by midnight whether my father knows, approves, or whether the King is here or not.” He clasped her hands and kissed her softly. “Just like I promised.”

“The bastard and the servant.” Dria smiled.

“Love without boundaries.”

“My Aeksio.” Dria whispered, speaking the name of the Lord constellation as she often did when referring to Jon.

The door behind them creaked open and Dria sprang apart from Jon. It was only Robb, the handsome eldest trueborn son of Lord Stark. He was wearing his cloak and looked harassed.

“I’ve managed to sneak away.” He said. “It’s now or never.”

“Maester Luwin?” Jon asked as they began to walk swiftly towards the Godswood.

“He’s already there.” Robb said. He smiled at Dria. “Are you sure about this?”

“More than anything.” Dria replied with a nod.

Robb nodded and the three of them slipped into the Godswood. It was dark and spiritual here as they walked through the snow to the trunk of the Heart tree. Beneath it, already in position, stood Maester Luwin, the aged man of the cloth appointed to House Stark. He was wearing a thick woolen cloak and holding a white fur-lined one in his hands.

“I was wondering when you would be here.” He said. He looked Jon up and down. “Are you sure you want to defy your father in this way?” He sounded disapproving.

“I will tell him eventually.” Jon promised. Dria could see his crossed fingers where Luwin could not. “He will understand love is love.”

“Without boundaries.” Dria said softly. Luwin sniffed and turned to Robb.

“And you, my lord. You wish to defy your father.”

“Like Jon said. Love is love. I’m here to support my brother.”

“We have asked the Gods, Maester.” Dria said. “They have approved our union.”

Luwin looked over her pensively for a moment before shifting his sleeves and nodding. “Very well.” Luwin sniffed. “Let me not stand in the way of the will of the Gods.”

Jon and Dria exchanged excited glances as Jon took her hands.

“I trust you have learnt your vows.”

“I, Jon Snow, of no known House,” Jon began as Dria gave him a warm smile. “Do swear my body, heart and soul to you, Adria Tawn. I vow to stand by your side, as your husband, from this moment until my last. I shall lie with no other, pledge my body to no other, love no other. I will be yours and only yours until the end of days. I swear this in the sight of the Old Gods. I shall take no vows save this lest this vow be terminated.” Jon spoke confidently and firmly as his dark brown eyes met Dria’s oceanic ones. She smiled at him.

“Adria.” Luwin prompted.

“I, Adria, formerly of House Tawn of Dauphin, do swear my body, heart and soul to you, Jon Snow. I vow to stand by your side, as your wife, from this moment until my last. I shall lie with no other, pledge my body to no other, love no other. I will be yours and only yours until the end of days. I swear this in the sight of the Old Gods. I shall take no vows save this, lest these vows be terminated.”

Luwin sniffed approvingly and turned to Robb, who had been stood off at the side watching cautiously whilst simultaneously keeping a lookout.

“My lord, do you consent and bare full witness to the union of these two souls in the sight of the Old Gods.”

Robb stepped forward and looked between Jon and Dria. “I, Robb of House Stark, do solemnly swear in the sight of the Old Gods that I consent and bare witness to the union of these two souls.”

Luwin nodded and Robb stepped back again. Luwin unfurled the cloak and held it out for Jon to take. “Place this around Adria and bring her under your protection.” Luwin instructed. Jon did as he was bid and wrapped the cloak around Adria’s shivering shoulders. Luwin nodded again. “With all this said,” He took Adria and Jon’s hands and clasped his own around theirs, “In the sight of the Old Gods on this night I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one until a time may come when the Gods see fit to tear them asunder. You may seal this union with a kiss of heart.”

Jon smiled at Dria and leant in to kiss her lightly on the lips. As they broke apart a twig snapped in the darkness. Robb took a defensive stance but nothing could be seen.

“Probably a beast.” Robb concluded, turning back to the union.

“Go now Jon and Adria, bound in sight of the Old Gods, and make your promise of body.” Luwin said, departing himself.

“The fanciest words I’ve ever heard for ‘fuck’.” Robb chuckled as he clapped Jon on the shoulder. “Congratulations, brother. The first of us to wed.”

“Your wedding will be the official one.” Dria reminded Robb softly. 

“It will distract Father from your deception here tonight.” Robb shrugged.

“Remember your promise, Robb.” Jon said worriedly.

“I won’t tell him.” Robb promised. “You have my word. Father will not hear it from me.”

“Thank you.” Dria said.

“Although your ‘promise of body’ will probably have to wait until the castle is entirely abed.” Robb reminded them as they began to walk back up to the great hall. “Arya was sent to bed in disgrace before I came out here. She’ll be waiting for you, Dria.”

Dria looked panicked as she turned to Jon. “I’m sorry,” She said quickly. “I’ll come by your chamber in the small hours.”

“I’ll be waiting.” Jon kissed her lightly on the lips before Dria shrugged off the wedding cloak and handed it to him, then hurried off towards the castle. Jon cradled the cloak and looked at Robb with an uncontrollable smile. “Thank you for this.” Jon said.

“I expect you to return the favour sometime.” Robb said, ruffling Jon’s hair. He squinted out suddenly into the darkness.

“What is it?” Jon asked.

“Nothing. I thought I saw someone. I was mistaken.” They had reached the great hall. “Will you keep away?”

“I do not feel welcome.”

“Probably just as well.” Robb shrugged, “It’s not all that fun. You have far more fun things ahead tonight.” He chuckled and ascended the steps to the great hall. Jon watched him go with a shake of his head. He looked down at his hand and thought about Dria’s touch. They were married. The last three years had been leading up to this day, and now they were man and wife in the sight of the Gods. Nothing could change that. At least it made all the times they had met up to have sex in dark corridors, or behind tapestries, or in the stables worthwhile. Jon couldn’t fully remember how long ago they had started making love, but it had been well over a year.

Dria’s mind slipped to these encounters as she made her way through the corridors of Winterfell in the direction of Arya’s chambers. For someone who had been afraid to fuck a prostitute Jon was surprisingly good when it was the two of them. That’s how their sexual relationship had started, he had returned from the brothel after a trip with Robb and Theon Greyjoy, the Stark ward, and recounted to her how he couldn’t go through with it. He didn’t know who his mother was and that scared him. Dria had reminded him that her mother was a commoner from Kings Landing who her father had fallen in love with and taken home with him, and so they could not possibly be related. She had drawn him a bath and it was as he bathed that they made love for the first time. He had been equal parts tender and rough and the thought of him inside her gave Dria butterflies in her stomach. She couldn’t wait to make love to him as man and wife later in the night.

Dria knocked on Arya’s door. From inside she could hear the sound of furniture being thrown around and she opened the door tentatively, narrowly missing an inkwell hitting the wall by the door. She shut the door hastily behind her and stepped into the room.

“Arya? What’s the matter?” Dria asked in a calming voice. Arya grunted and hurled a handful of quills onto the floor.

“I’m so sick of Sansa!” Arya shouted. Dria rolled her eyes and stepped over to her charge. This was an age old argument that she was more than used to.

“Remember what we talked about.” Dria said softly. Arya instantly calmed as Dria approached, sitting on the edge of her bed with her arms folded and her lips pouted.

“Sansa can’t help it?”

“That’s not exactly right now is it?” Dria chuckled and gestured for Arya to help her undress.

Arya rolled her eyes. “Sansa has to try harder to weigh up to Robb, she’s under a lot of pressure, blah blah blah.”

“I’m sure some of what we talked about is in there somewhere. What has she done to annoy you tonight?”

“Boasting about marrying the Prince.”

Dria raised her eyebrows. “Is that so?”

“Apparently. I may have hit her with a spoon of potato and she went berserk at me, saying I was embarassing her. As if I could. Robb put me to bed then, I wasn’t allowed to stay at the feast. I’m not a child.”

“I know you’re not.” Dria soothed, “And you know you’re not. But Sansa’s under a lot of pressure.”

“I never want to get married. It makes me sick.”

Dria smiled to herself. “It’s not so bad.” She helped Arya into her nightdress.

“How would you know? You’re never going to get married either, right?”

“I can’t be your servant forever.” Dria said. “I’m sure one day I will get married.”

“You’re not my servant.”

“No?” Dria paused in folding Arya’s clothes.

“You’re much more. You’re my friend.”

Dria smiled at her and ruffled her hair. “You’ve been lovely to me Arya. I’m grateful to you.”

“You’re not so much older than me.”

“Five years.” Dria tucked Arya up under the furs on her bed. “Calm your mind and get some sleep.”

“You’re more of a big sister to me than Sansa.” Arya yawned as Dria reached the door. She opened it a little and sighed.

“You should be nicer to your sister. She can’t help being the way she is anymore than you can. I’m sure to her marrying the prince is all she wants to achieve in life. You have bigger dreams, I know, but leave Sansa to hers.” Dria smiled. “Good night, Arya.”

“Good night, Dria.” Arya yawned again and blew out her candle. Dria closed the door and stood alone in the corridor for a moment, before turning to head along to Jon’s chamber. She didn’t notice Sansa slip into her own room, the hem of her skirt dirtied from her tiptoeing outside. Sansa glared at Dria through the darkness, vowing to make her pay for her words. She had never liked Dria. She had always seen her as competition. She was beautiful, fair and all the men in the castle were under her spell. She didn’t much care for Jon either, and so she had no qualms going to her father with the knowledge she had acquired this night for no reason other than bitterness.

Jon was pacing his floor in his bare torso, feet and ;eather trousers when there was a soft knock on wood. Jon stopped pacing and crossed to the door, pulling it open just enough for Dria to slip inside. They wasted no time in shutting it again with Jon pushing Dria up against it. His kisses were hungry and neither of them wanted to speak as they lost themselves in each other. He span her around so that he could unlace her dress, kissing her shoulder and neck as he set about peeling it from her skin and letting it fall to the ground as she turned back to face him, their lips meeting again, panting. Dria’s hands ran down the bare torso that he pressed against hers, finding his trousers and unlacing them. He kissed down her neck and over her waiting breasts as she released him, smiling as her fingers wrapped around his length. He gasped slightly at her touch and he pushed deeper into her. Before he knew what he was doing he had hooked her around his waist and carried her to the bed, dropping her sideways along it and kissing down over her breasts, stomach and between her legs. She gasped and gripped his hair as he went down on her, his magical tongue working her until she could barely breathe. Just as her back arched and she found herself on the edge did he pull away and smile wolfishly at her. She kissed him deeply on the mouth and spread her legs further so he could slip between them. He slid slowly inside her, feeling her react as he filled her up. She clutched him as he set to work inside her.

It was official, they were married in the eyes of the Old Gods.


	2. Episode 1: Love Without Boundaries (Pt. 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned finds out, banishes Jon to the wall. and takes Adria to King's Landing.

“What is it you love about me?” Dria asked as she traced her finger around Jon’s bare chest. The birds were barely singing outside the window, dawn only beginning to think about breaking. The fire was low and the candles were almost burnt out, but Jon and Dria had not noticed nor needed the light. They had been a married couple for days now and had stolen every conceivable moment to be alone together in the meantime. Neither of them knew why they felt such urgency, but it hung over them like an inescapable, unexplainable plague. Jon was curling Dria’s long dark hair around his fingers as he stared at no spot in particular, her body entwined around his atop the covers.

“Is everything an acceptable answer?” Jon asked with a small smile.

“No.” Dria replied. She lightly kissed his chest and then pushed herself up on it to look into his eyes. “I was no-one when I came here. A refugee with no name, no future and a foreign accent.”

“That was never going to last long around here.” Jon chuckled, “We’re all so Northern even the most foreign would convert.”

“Answer me Jon. Why do you love me so?”

“You have a kind heart.” Jon replied instantly, his hand running down her side to emphasise his point.

“Is that all?”

“Do I need anything else?” He smiled. “Besides the fact you are the most beautiful creature that I have ever been blessed to see. You have eyes as deep as the ocean, and when you smile the sun shines from your face.”

Dria looked at him for a moment before spluttering with laughter. “Don’t go into a career as a poet, will you?” She giggled and kissed him softly.

“What about you?” Jon asked. “What made you love me? A bastard with no name, no future and a stupid accent?” His eyes twinkled, but seriousness crossed his face. "I'm not knight, no lord. I have nothing. Why would you want that?"

"I don't need you to be a knight. I don't need a lord, or a king, or even a merchant. I just want you."

"Why me?"

“You care. So deeply. About everything. And everyone. I could see it from the moment I met you.” She gripped his face with her fingers and stroked his cheek softly. “You would give anything for anyone in any given moment.” She pressed her forehead against his. “The accent I can learn to deal with.”

Jon laughed and kissed her deeply.

“I have loved you from the moment I saw you.” He said, “And I always will. Lady Snow.”

It was on the day of the King departing for Kings Landing that Ned called for Adria to attend him. She had successfully slipped out of Jon’s chamber before the break of dawn but had not expected the castle to be as awake and active as it was. She composed herself carefully, ensuring she was presentable and trying to make it look like she was just wandering down the male corridor for no particular reason, as Robb approached her.

“My father wishes to speak with you.” Robb said with a serious expression. “He’s in the Great Hall.”

“Your father?” Dria asked worriedly. “What does he wish to see me for?”

“Well,” Robb swallowed as though his mouth was dry, “You and Jon. I’m to fetch him now.”

Dria stared at him. “Does he know? Your father?”

“I think he must.” Robb looked pained. “But you have to believe me, Adria, it hasn’t come from me.”

Dria’s heart raced in her chest as she racked her brains for a way out. She felt like a rat in a trap. Eventually she looked up at Robb and offered him a dry smile. “Thank you, my lord. I’m sure it hasn’t.” She bowed her head as Robb turned on his heel with a bob of his head back at her. Dria closed her eyes for a moment, panicking, before composing herself and continuing her journey out of the corridor. She clenched her fists in her long sleeves and forced herself to take deep breaths. It wasn’t explicitly forbidden for Jon to be married, nor was it forbidden for her to be married. It was just a grey area as to whether they were permitted to be married to each other. Either way they should have asked Lord Stark’s permission, but they knew he would never give it. She had seen Ned Stark take people’s heads for crimes before. She hoped this was not that kind of crime.

The walk to the Great Hall seemed the longest Dria had ever walked. Her skirts rustled on the stone floor as the wind whistled through the halls. All around the chatter and business of the soldiers preparing to depart ricocheted. The noise was barely drowning out Dria’s own heart in her ribcage. Eventually she reached the great hall and pushed open the door tentatively. She was a little disturbed to see this particular room, the room in the heart of the castle, so empty of people. Ned Stark was the only body in sight, standing alone by the fireplace with his back to her. For a brief moment Dria contemplated pretending Robb had never found her, but she was too honourable to lie and she knew Robb would always tell his father the truth. She took a deep breath and accepted her fate, whatever it may be, by crossing the floor.

“Excuse me, Lord Stark.” She said, her voice barely a mouse’s squeak. Ned, nonetheless, heard and turned to face her. His face was thickset and heavily lined, grief and worry weighing heavy upon it. She frowned at his pain for a moment before composing herself, drawing herself up to her (not very tall) full height and grasping her hands in front of her. “You wished to see me, milord.” Her breath came in heavy pants despite her attempts to calm it. There was something about Ned that scared her. He had always been kind to her, but something about him edged on dangerous. It could be his height, his manner or his command. Either way she knew she never wanted to be on the recieving end of his scorn. Now she found herself in the middle of it. She struggled to meet his eye as she forced herself to remain calm.

“Do you have something to tell me, Adria.” Ned said with a dark tone in his voice. It wasn’t anger, it wasn’t hurt. It was disappointment.

“My lord?” Dria said through gasping breaths. Ned stared down at her, his eyes deep. She met them briefly before looking away, suddenly about to crumble.

“You went behind my back.” Ned said, his Northern accent as thick and strong as his jaw. Dria swallowed hard. She felt so very small next to this war hero. “You kept from me the very secret that would bring shame to my name.”

“I never meant to bring you shame, my lord.” Dria stammered, her turquoise eyes darting to him in horror. The last thing she wanted to do was bring shame on his family, she needed him to know that.

“If I cannot control what goes on in my own castle how can I control what goes on in a kingdom? King Robert is counting on me. If he knew what my own servant has done…” He shook his head. Dria closed her eyes exasperatedly. “Do you deny it?” He asked. Her eyes flicked open, her mind racing. She had been a Lords daughter at home on Dauphin. She knew how to handle situations as these. If only her mind would calm down. She took a deep breath and composed herself, her thoughts suddenly becoming much clearer.

“My lord,” Dria said calmly, “You have not yet told me of my crime.” She stated in as diplomatic way as she was able. Ned surveyed her before nodding once, slowly.

“I apologise.” He seemed to be struggling with the words needed to punish her. He, too, took a deep breath and drew himself up to his impressive full height. “You are accused of going behind my back to wed my bastard son without due permission.” Dria breathed out. So she was right. “Do you deny it?”

“No, my lord.” Dria said, clasping her own fingers tightly.

“Did you not think seeking my permission was necessary.”

“We,” She paused, not wanting to impliment Jon if she could help it, “I… I felt you would not give it.” Dria was unable to meet his eye now. She was looking at a slab of stone by his feet.

“You felt correctly.” Ned nodded. “You and Jon…” He struggled to find the words, and then he spoke words Dria had never expected him to speak. They took her completely by surprise. “I wished to spare you from the life that comes with being married to a bastard.”

Dria stared at him. “My lord?”

“You know I think of you as my daughter, Dria.” Ned’s hard voice switched to one of kindness, “If things had been different I would have taken you as my ward as I did Theon. Gods know Arya would barely function without you.”

Dria swallowed hard. This was the closest thing to a thank you she had ever received from Ned Stark. She was humbled beyond belief. “Does this not benefit you, then, my lord?” She said before she could stop herself. “Jon is your son, is he not? That makes me, in some way, your daughter?”

Ned’s expression hardened again. “Your marriage can not be allowed to continue.” Dria stared at him in horror.

“My lord?” She felt hot tears sting her eyes. It was at this point that the door behind her opened with a bang.

“Father, this was all my doing!” Jon demanded as he stormed across the stone to stop before his father. “Punish me if you must. Dria is innocent.”

“Hardly.” Ned said with a pitiful shake of his head. “Marriage takes two parties. And it must go no further.”

“What?” Jon said disbelievingly. “You cannot undo what the Gods have done.”

“No.” Ned shook his head. “But I can force your hand.” He looked Jon deep in the eyes as he spoke, “I shall take no vows save this, lest these vows be terminated.”

Jon’s eyes widened. “You don’t mean.”

“It is the Watch for you.” Ned said heavily. Dria’s head darted between them, her own eyes wide.

“Father, you can’t..!” Jon began to argue, but Ned held up a hand.

“It is organised. You ride out with Benjen.” Ned began to walk away, but Jon stepped in his path.

“I’ll just come back!” Jon argued. “You cannot keep us apart. I’ll return to Winterfell!”

“Dria will not be here.” Ned argued bluntly. Dria stood numbly by the fireplace, processing the information, but jerked at the sound of her name. Jon frowned at his father.

“Where will she be?”

“Dria is to ride to Kings Landing with me. I am to be Hand of the King, and I am taking Sansa and Arya with me. Dria is Arya’s ladiesmaid. That is her place.” Ned pushed past Jon again.

“You can’t do this!” Jon shouted after him. Ned turned in the doorway, his expression bordering on dangerous.

“I can! And I will!” He shouted. “Count yourselves lucky I am not doing far worse! This deception will not be tolerated! It is the Wall for you, and the Capital for her.” Ned’s voice echoed around the walls. “Gather your belongings. We ride out before noon. Disobey me…” He paused dangerously, “And I’ll see you both killed.” He said in a quieter tone, turning so that his cloak swished and slamming out of the room.

Dria stared helplessly at Jon as he hurried to her. “He can’t do that, can he? Banish you?” Tears were rolling freely down her cheeks as he held her to his chest.

“I’ll find a way.” He said. “I’ll follow you to King’s Landing.” 

“You heard him. He’ll kill us.” Dria sobbed. “All because of his reputation.”

“Fuck his reputation.” Jon said, rocking her slightly. Dria shook his head.

“I can see no way out, Jon.” She whispered, holding him close.

“We’ll run away. Right now. We don’t need anything. Just each other.”

Dria closed her eyes, knowing that they were beaten. She inclined her head to meet his eye and shook her head. “Your father is Warden of the North. There is nowhere we can go where he won’t find us.”

“We can’t just give up.” Jon began to cry himself as he stroked the hair from her face softly.

“We’re trapped.” Dria whispered.

Jon held her close, his hand stroking her dark hair as he held back tears. If he allowed himself the truth he knew there was no way out. He couldn’t disobey his father. And it only confirmed his thoughts: marrying him was a mistake. The wife of a bastard was no life for Dria.

“I’ll see you again.” He whispered, kissing her forehead as she sobbed into his chest. “There is months before I even take the vow. I’ll find a way. I promise you, we will be together again.” He said as he twirled her curls around his fingers. In truth, he had no idea how he would ever snatch her out from under his Father’s gaze once she was in Kings Landing. “And when I see Robb…”

“It wasn’t him.” Dria looked up at him, knowing what he was about to say.

“Then who else could it be?” Jon asked. “Who would hate us so much to tell Father?”

“Think about it Jon. Who do we know who dislikes you, who is jealous of anyone seen to be happy? Who may not see the weight of her actions. Who lives in a fantasy world.”

“Sansa.” Jon said. “She has to pay.”

“She’s a child.” Dria said softly, shaking her head. “She’ll regret it when she’s older. But she cannot help it now.”

“When will you stop making excuses for her?” Jon asked with a frown. “Because of her we are to be torn apart.”

“No, my love.” Dria said, entwining her fingers in his. “We will never be torn apart. There may be seven kingdoms between us but we will never be torn apart.”

“I love you.” Jon whispered, kissing her tenderly on the lips.

“And I you.” She kissed him again, tears rolling down her cheeks.

There really were very few belongings Dria possessed. When Ned had found her washed up on the shore she had simply carried the clothes on her back. She didn’t even have shoes. Over the last few years she had built up at least some of a wardrobe, but the clothes were thick and Northern and not meant for warm Southern climates. She opted to leave most of them in her wardrobe, packing simply her wedding gown and her nightdress. She busied herself instead with Arya’s belongings. Arya talked non-stop as Dria emptied her drawers, either to herself or Nymeria, her direwolf. Either way Dria did not respond.

“Dria!” Arya broke Dria from her thoughts, “Are you even listening to me? I’m telling you how I trained Nymeria to pack my case. Watch.” Dria watched obligingly as Arya failed to coax her direwolf into passing her her boots. “She did it when you weren’t paying attention.” Arya said sulkily.

“I don’t doubt it, my lady.” Dria said flatly. Arya threw herself onto her bed and observed Dria with her head on one side.

“What’s the matter with you?” She asked. “You seem so unhappy to be coming with us.”

“I’m not, my lady.” Dria said. She was saved further explanation by a knock on the door. “You should fold those things properly, Arya.” Dria said as she crossed to the door. “Septa Mordane will have both our heads if they…” She was cut off by Jon standing on the other side of the door. He gave her a sorrowful look before clearing his throat.

“I have a present for Arya.” He said. Dria nodded and stepped aside so that he could enter.

“Jon!” Arya said excitedly. “Look, I’ve trained Nymeria to help. Septa Mordan says we have to do it again, my things aren’t properly folded she says. Who cares how they’re folded? Do you, Dria?” Dria shook her head as she closed the door and skirted around Jon, trying to avoid his eye contact so as not to burst into tears again. Arya rolled her eyes, not noticing the longing way Jon was looking at her maid. “They’re all going to get messed up anyway.”

“It’s good you’ve got help.” Jon said, forcing himself to look away from his wife.

“Watch. Nymeria, gloves.” Arya held her hand out expectantly but Nymeria did not move.

“Impressive.” Jon said impatiently.

Arya growled. “She did it before, didn’t she Dria.”

“She did, my lady.” Dria said with a sigh.

“I have a present for you, Arya.” Jon said, unfurling a package and laying it on the bed. Dria frowned as she watched from afar as he presented his sister with a sword and explained about how to use it. She leant against the bedpost as she tried not to note on how good he had always been with his kid sister, how good he would have been with their children. She felt herself about to sob again and turned away. He noticed.

“First rule,” Jon said, getting up from the bed, “Stick ‘em with the pointy end.” He looked at Dria and then back at Arya. “May I borrow your maid, Arya?”

“Dria? Why?” Arya said with a frown. She was preoccupied admiring her sword.

“I need her to help me fold my own clothes. I don’t want Septa Mordane on my case, either.” Jon slipped out of the door before Arya could argue, holding it open for Dria.

“I’ll return shortly, my lady.” Dria said as she scuttled from the room. No sooner was the door closed then Jon opened the door to the adjoining store room and pulled Dria inside. He shut the door behind her and she wrapped her arms around his neck, tears rolling down her cheeks as she kissed him. Before long they were laid on the cramped floor of the store room, Dria’s skirts around her waist as Jon fumbled with his trousers.

“I can’t believe this is going to be the last time.” Dria said miserably.

“Don’t think about that. Think about all the time we have had.” Jon kissed her softly. She entwined her fingers in his curls and let him kiss every bare inch of her he could see, slipping inside her whilst holding her eye-contact, rocking back and forth tenderly as she savoured every movement. If this was to be the last time she made love to her husband she wanted to remember every second. When it was over he kissed her like it was the last time. For all they knew it was going to be. Dria dressed herself again and returned to Arya whilst Jon went to say goodbye to Bran. Before Jon left the room he turned back as though it were an afterthought and pressed a knife into Dria’s hands.

“In case your tongue is not sharp enough.” He whispered. Dria clutched the blade to her chest as she nodded in silent promise. Their last kiss was long and longing, tears flooding their cheeks and their hearts hammering.

They went their seperate ways on the Kings Road less than an hour later. She was forced to ride in the carriage with Arya and Sansa whilst Jon rode up ahead with his father. They had been unable to kiss goodbye in the courtyard as Jon had bid farewell to Robb. Robb had given her a lingering look of sadness before the door of the carriage had closed. Jon caught her eye through the window of the carriage and mouthed, “I love you.” That was the last thing he said to her before he rode for his fate at the Wall.

“I’m going to miss Jon.” Arya mused as Dria tried to hide her tears from the two young Stark girls. Septa Mordane gave her sniffling a skeptical look whilst Sansa smirked.

“Me too.” Dria managed to say with a thick voice, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “He was always kind.”

“I didn’t know you were so attached to the North.” Sansa said with a gloating smile. Dria looked at her, her eyes dark.

“One day your words will come back to haunt you, Sansa.” Dria scolded. “Remember that. Your words have meaning. Your actions have consequences.”

She looked back out of the window at the distant sight of Jon and Benjen disappearing on the horizon. Something in her stomach wrenched with pain. She knew things would never be the same again. 


	3. Episode 1: Love Without Boundaries (Pt. 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dria mends bridges between herself and the Starks.

The Kings Road was long and trying for all involved. Thankfully travelling with the King meant they took frequent breaks so that he could urinate or at inns so he could drink, and when the King stopped as did everyone else, A journey which should take just under a month was promising to take longer. Dria wished she could ride independently from the coach she was confined to and instead sit astride a horse but, according to Septa Mordane, that was not the done thing for ladies. Dria bit her tongue on several occasions rather than tell Mordane where she could stick her opinions, that she was not a Lady nor would she be, but she held her tongue for the sake of Arya. She knew Ned was expecting her to make trouble after he had separated her from Jon and she was determined not to prove him right. Instead she busied herself with Arya’s studies, taking the opportunity of the Kings Road to inform her of the Great Houses of the lands they rode through. Arya couldn’t care less but Dria persevered. If nothing else it was to pass the time in her own mind and to stop her thinking of Jon. He must have reached the Wall by now and was one step closer to taking the vow that would officially end their marriage. Dria felt herself about to sob as she thought about him and cleared her throat instead, shutting the book with a snap and sighing at Arya, who was actively ignoring her.

“You’ll thank me for this when you’re in the Capital.” Dria said quietly to her, but Arya rolled her eyes and continued looking out the window. Dria rolled her own eyes and looked over at Sansa, who was sulking with Septa Mordane. Dria and Sansa had not spoken a word since they had left Winterfell. Dria wanted nothing more than to ask Sansa why she told Ned the truth. She knew she couldn’t do so in front of Septa Mordane. The woman’s stern expression constantly looked down on Dria and always had done. Her attitude probably came from a life of caring for the eldest Stark daughter. Sansa wasn’t exactly easy to get on with, as Dria knew. She had always tried hard to be kind to Sansa but Sansa did not allow her the opportunity. Dria opened her mouth to speak to Sansa, deciding it might be the only time they were in the same room and Sansa would be forced to listen, but she was interrupted by the carriage coming to an abrupt halt. Mordane tutted.

“I wish they would give us warning!” She shouted angrily.

“Why have we stopped?” Sansa asked.

“The King probably needs a piss again.” Arya said sulkily.

“Arya!” Mordane scolded, “You shouldn’t lose such language?”

“Why not? Because someone might think me not a lady?” Arya rolled her eyes and Dria couldn’t help giggling for the first time in weeks.

“You shouldn’t encourage her so.” Mordane turned to Dria. Dria narrowed her eyes at Mordane.

“My lady made a joke. It would be impolite not to laugh.” Dria said insolently with a sideways glance at Arya. Mordane drew herself up indignantly and prepared to open the door to ask why they stopped. Dria turned to Arya to scold her in a whisper. “You shouldn’t wind her up so.”

“It’s no fun otherwise.” Arya shrugged. Septa Mordane appeared at the door again.

“Come girls. We have stopped for the night at an inn. Your father requests you to share a room.”

Stopping at an inn with an entire royal party was no easy fete. Dria helped Arya and Sansa settled in their room and then Arya insisted on going exploring.

“Don’t worry Dria,” She said innocently, “Nymeria will keep me safe.”

“You and that wolf.” Dria rolled her eyes but permitted Arya to stray as long as she kept the Stark banners in sight at all times. She agreed and hurried off. For a brief moment Dria was left alone with Sansa. She met her eye and her smile faded. Mordane was not in the room and so this seemed the only time Dria would have to speak with the eldest Stark daughter. She set about unfolding Arya’s nightclothes as she tried to think of what to say.

“For what it’s worth,” Sansa spoke first, surprising Dria greatly, “I didn’t know father would react in such a way.” This seemed the closest Dria was going to get by way of an apology.

Dria closed her eyes and counted to three before turning to her, composing herself. “How did you think he would react?”

“He’s always loved you. I thought he’d be happy.”

“Don’t be naive, Sansa.” Dria said before she could stop herself, “You knew exactly what you were doing.” Sansa pouted her lips. Dria had always seen through her childish lies, it was one of the reasons Sansa disliked the ladiesmaid. “I just hope one day you will see the consequences of what you have done.” Dria continued.

“Maybe you can find a blacksmith or someone to marry. It’d make you a better match.”

“Oh grow up, Sansa!” Dria shouted, anger flooding over her. She threw down the folding in her arms and turned to Sansa, who took a step back. She had never seen Dria raise her voice even when Arya was at her worst. “For whatever reason you’ve never liked me. I don’t know why when all I’ve ever been is kind and loyal to you and your family. I can deal with what you’ve done to me, but you’ve sentenced your brother to a lifetime of misery on the Wall. Do you not feel even remotely guilty about that?!”

“He’s my half-brother.” Sansa said sulkily.

“He’s your blood nonetheless. And because of what you’ve done we’re never going to see him again.” Dria’s voice cracked as she began to cry. Sansa stared at her. For the first time it seemed Dria had got through to her. Dria turned away from her, not wanting her to see her cry. There was a long pause as Dria painstakingly straightened Arya’s clothes in her trunk.

“I’m sorry, Dria.” Sansa whispered before leaving the room. Dria waited for the door to click shut before collapsing onto the bed, sobs racking her entire body. She fumbled in the neck of her dress and found the wolf's tooth that hung there, a gift from Jon after they had first made love all those years ago. She clutched it and let her grief and sorrow take over whilst she was alone and no longer had to stand on ceremony.

She drifted off to sleep before the sky had even begun to turn dark, oblivious to everything going on outside.

Dria was back in Winterfell, her barefeet feeling the threadbare rugs that lined the North corridor as she ran along it towards the empty room at the top. Her boots creaked in her hand, having taken them off so as not to make noise. She knew once she got there he would be waiting, having abandoned his family meal by faking a stomach ache. Their love was new, exciting, true. She hesitated as she reached it, pushing open the wooden door. Jon stood in the centre of the room in his shirt and trousers, his own boots and cloak folded neatly on a cobweb covered chair. He turned to her as she entered and beamed from ear to ear as she shut and locked the door. She dropped her boots on the floor and threw her arms around his neck, his hands running over her face and through her long hair.

“I was worried you wouldn’t manage to slip away.” She whispered, kissing him lightly on the lips. He looked lovingly down at her.

“I had to lie through my teeth. Robb will check on me in an hour so I have to be back.”

“That’s more than enough time.” Dria replied, kissing him again. He held her tightly around the waist as he lifted her off her feet to spin her round, locked at the lips. He set her down and she giggled, her head spinning.

“I have something for you.” Jon said, fumbling at his neck. He produced a wolf’s tooth on a leather thong and pulled it over his head, placing it over hers and stroking it as it glistened on her chest. She ran a finger over it, her eyes big as she looked at him. “It’s a Stark tradition. A wolf’s tooth to their beloved proves the strength of their love.”

“I will treasure it.” Dria said. He smiled and kissed her deeply. “Although I have nothing to give you in return know I too love you.” She whispered. He nodded and kissed her again, hungrier. His hands wrapped around her waist and instinctively she raised her arms so he could pull her dress over her head, leaving her stood before him in nothing but the necklace. He ran his hands over her chest, his thumbs over her nipples, his eyes burning deeply into her skin as he took in every inch.

“You’re so beautiful.” He said admiringly. She blushed and pulled her hair over her shoulder so it tickled her breasts. He kissed her again and she tugged his shirt over his head, unbuckling his belt and running her hands over his chest. He struggled out of his trousers and they lay down together, naked, on the fur rug. They took a moment to look upon each other, stroking each others skin lovingly, and then Dria rolled on top of him and slid herself onto him, her hands on his chest as she rode him. Her hair tickled his skin as she leant down to kiss him and his hips bucked in a steady rhythm, responding to her light mews in his ear. He alternated the rhythm and put his thumb in her mouth as she threatened to cry out loud enough for the servants to hear. She was close, he could feel it, and as she crashed around him he couldn’t help but call out her name…

“Dria!” Dria was shaken awake by Jory. She sat up indignantly as she realised it was just a memory playing out in a dream of a long passed encounter.

“Jory?” Dria asked, wiping her eyes. It was dark outside the window and Jory was wearing a thick cloak, a lit torch in his hands.

“Apologies, but Lord Stark requests you.” Jory was speaking in a hushed whisper. Dria frowned at him, glancing at the two beds in the room. Sansa was fast asleep but Arya was missing. She looked in horror at Jory.

“Where’s Arya?!”

“Missing.” Jory said urgently. “She disappeared after her direwolf attacked the Prince.”

“What!” Dria was wide awake now, all thoughts of Jon gone from her mind. She launched herself off the bed and pulled her cloak around her shoulders. As she passed her open chest at the door she snatched the glistening blade from within the lining, remembering Jon’s parting words. She then followed Jory outside to where the Stark guards, and some Lannisters and gold cloaks, were parading around with torches and swords shouting for the youngest Stark daughter.

“Dria.” Ned hurried over to where she stood with Jory.

“My lord, I’m so sorry.” Dria said.

“Where were you?” Ned asked, but interrupted himself, “I need her finding before the gold cloaks get their hands on her, or worse.” He glanced at where the Queen was cradling a sobbing Prince Joffrey. His arm was barely grazed and he was clearly enjoying the spectacle.

“Of course, my lord.” Dria nodded as Ned hurried away again, a torch in his own hand.

“Come with my, Dria. We’ll take the Southern woods.” Jory began to head in the direction but Dria caught his arm.

“With respect Ser,” Dria said with worry in her voice, “Arya won’t come out for any man, Stark or otherwise. Let me go alone. I’ll find her.” 

“It’s dangerous out there.” Jory said concernedly as Dria took the torch from his hand.

“Not as dangerous as it will be when I get out there.” Dria said with an assured look at him before she turned on her heel and hurried off. Jory stood helpless for a second before snatching up another torch and hurrying in another direction. Dria fought to gather her courage as she entered the Southern woods. She felt guilty for dreaming of Jon instead of looking after Arya and she was determined to find her before anyone else.

The woods were dark but the torchlight stretched far. Dria held the small blade in her shaking hand as she called Arya’s name. For what seemed an age she searched, taking care to go deeper and further than any of the Lannister soldiers or gold cloaks. She kept them in her perifery as she searched.

“Arya!” She shouted, her lips turning blue as the cold hit her bones. It was very dark now and the wind was biting. “Please come out. I’m alone!”

There was a long pause as Dria stood helplessly in a clearing, and then she heard Arya’s whisper, “Dria?” from somewhere up ahead. Dria hurried forwards and found Arya curled up in the roots of a tree, holding herself as she shivered. Dria belted her blade and stuck the torch in the dirt, shrugging off her own cloak and wrapping it around Arya.

“Here you are! What happened?”

“Joffrey. He baited me, and then Nymeria… she bit him.”

“He’s a little shit.” Dria whispered as she wrapped her arms around Arya, trying to warm up her shivering body. “He’s barely grazed.”

“Nymeria. I told her to run.”

“She listened to you.” Dria assured her. Arya nodded happily and buried into Dria’s chest, her teeth chattering. Dria tried not to shiver too as she rubbed Arya’s arms.

“What’s going to happen to me now?”

“We’re going to take you to your father, that’s what.” Dria said assertively. Arya looked at her, horrified.

“No! He’s going to be so mad!”

“He’ll just be relieved you’re safe. He’s so worried about you, Arya.” Dria said. “We can’t stay here, we’ll both freeze. Come on.” Dria began to climb to her feet and dragged Arya up with her, picking up the torch and, with one arm still around Arya in her cloak, began to lead Arya back towards the inn. She was so focused on getting Arya to her father she didn’t hear the twig snap or see the Lannister soldiers approach until it was too late and they were on top of them.

“Take the girl to the King.” One said, his sword directed at Dria’s chest.

“What is the meaning of this!” Dria shouted as Arya cried out, her arm held tightly by the soldier, “Unhand my lady or you will answer to her father!” Another soldier gripped her own arm tightly.

“You will both answer to the King and Queen.” The soldier said with a sneer.

“For what?!” Dria demanded as they were frog-marched, “We have done nothing wrong!”

“Attacking the Prince.” One said.

“It was not my lady that bit the Prince!” Dria argued, but the soldiers had stopped listening. They were dragged into the main room of the inn and Arya was set before the King and Queen as Dria was held back. Jory alerted Ned and, after a heated discussion, Sansa was called forward to contest for the defence but it did nothing but set the Stark sisters further apart. It was decided that Arya was not to blame but Nymeria. As Nymeria was set free there was nothing they could do, until Cersei ordered Ned Stark to punish Lady, Sansa’s own direwolf. The girls were carried to bed as their screams of protest rang around the walls and Cersei smirked triumphantly. Dria stood helplessly as she watched Sansa crying into the corridor. She made a decision in a split second and fought her way out of the hall in the direction of the pens. For all Sansa’s sins she did not deserve to lose her wolf like this.

Dria found Ned kneeling in the pen where Lady was kept. He had a blade in his hand and was about to slit the wolf’s fault when Dria reached the gate.

“My lord!” Dria cried, pulling Ned from his thoughts. “I beseech you to think about what you are doing.”

“It is my duty, Adria. It is not your place to tell me what to do.”

“Think of your daughter, Lord Stark. We are alone here, no Lannister soldiers or gold cloaks. Let Lady go. You said yourself direwolves should not be pets. She should be free, with her own kind. Nymeria is out in the woods somewhere. They will find one another.”

“Do not tell me how to do my duty!” Ned got to his feet, his voice raised. Dria took a deep breath and held her ground, her fists clenched.

“Your daughter will never forgive you. Which is greater: Duty to crown? Or duty to family?”

Ned surveyed her darkly for a moment. He looked down at the wolf by his feet, looking up at him. He blinked his sunken eyes and then released his hold on the beast. Dria, holding her breath, opened the gate.

“Lady.” She whispered, urging the wolf out of the pen.

“Go.” Ned said softly, nudging the wolf. “Get out of here.”

Lady did as she was told, padding out of the pen and, with a look at Dria, broke into a run as she hurried into the woods. Dria watched until she disappeared and then turned back to Ned.

“Thank you, my lord.”

“Get to bed.” Ned ordered, not wanting to linger any longer. His heart was heavy and the guilt he felt by looking at Dria was only making it worse. Dria waited, panting slightly, and then bobbed a curtsey.

“My lord.” She said, turning and heading back into the inn. One last look back at Ned saw him looking North, his face a mask of regret. Dria frowned at him before heading into the inn again. In that moment she saw Ned not as her Lord, but as a man trapped.


	4. Episode 1: Love Without Boundaries (Pt. 4)

Ned’s persona weighed heavy on Adria’s mind as they settled into Kings Landing. As Hand of the King they barely saw him, but what little Dria did see she could see how the duty was slowly eating away at him. Sansa loved being in Kings Landing and being the consort of Prince Joffrey. Being a Princess was all she had ever wanted, though he spoke not one word to her in the first month of their stay. Arya seemed to settle in at the Capital and was pleased when her father permitted her ‘dancing lessons’. Dria would be instructed to sit in on them and so at the same time she was learning how to be a master swordsman without the practice. She hoped she would never need such skills. Slowly Dria’s heart began to heal and she no longer missed Jon every second. Often in quiet times she would think about what he might be doing at that moment in time. She had never been to the Wall but had heard it was a miserable place. Jon was strong, she knew he could handle himself. Sansa and Arya continued to squabble like the sisters they were and Sansa barely spoke a word to her father. He bought her gifts and she called them childish, unable to forgive him for what happened to her direwolf. As far as she knew the wolf had perished. It was in the second month of their new life that Dria overheard Sansa and Arya having a screaming match in their bedroom.

“Stop being so childish!” Sansa screamed

“I am a child! Stop being such a snob!” Arya screamed back, and launched herself at her older sister. Septa Mordane was nowhere in sight as Dria burst into the bedroom and hauled Arya off Sansa. She stood between them, her arms outstretched, ready to break them apart again.

“What is happening between you two!” Dria shouted over their noise.

“Arya broke my hairpin!”

“I was using it to sharpen my sword!”

“Why should you need a sword!”

“To run you through!”

“Enough!” Dria shouted, “Or do I have to fetch your father and shame you all!”

Sansa and Arya fell silent. Sansa pouted whilst Arya folded her arms.

“Listen to the both of you! You’re sisters! Do you know how lucky you are that you have each other?!”

“Lucky!” Sansa scoffed and Arya made to launch at her again but Dria held her back.

“Yes, lucky! One day you will both see that. In the meantime we are all stuck here together so you must learn to live with one another. Sansa I’m sorry that Arya broke your hairpin but this is Kings Landing, I’m sure the Queen’s own jeweller will happily make you another. Arya there are tools for sharpening your sword, you shouldn’t need to use your sisters hairpin. It’s the wrong shape anyway and will only do the blade damage.”

“How do you know?!” Sansa flopped on her bed with her arms folded.

“I know because I listened to Ser Rodrick when he taught your brothers.” Dria shot at her. “Arya, I will personally go to town tomorrow with Jory and buy you one from the goldcloaks own smith. Alright?!” Arya too sat on her bed with her arms folded. “If your mother could see you now she would weep.” Dria lowered her arms, satisfied they would no longer launch themselves at each other. “Can you at least learn to be civil with each other, and especially with your father.” She looked at Sansa. “He doesn’t deserve the way you treat him sometimes.”

“He deserves everything I say to him. Because of him - and Arya,” She shot Arya a glare and Dria took defensive stance again just in case, “My direwolf is dead.”

“You’re wrong there.” Dria said quietly. Sansa frowned at her and Arya mirrored her expression. Dria sighed and sat down between their beds on the step. “You must promise to keep this a secret. Were the Queen to find out she would punish your father.”

“What?” Sansa crawled off her bed and sat beside Dria, enraptured in her confession. Arya, not wanting to be left out, sat on Dria’s other side. Dria rubbed her hands together as she thought about how to word her confession. “Lady isn’t dead. She’s probably in the woods at the Trident hunting with Nymeria as we speak.”

“Father let her go?!” Sansa said but Dria instantly shushed her.

“It took a great deal of pursuading, but yes. He did.”

“Wait,” Sansa frowned at her, her face beseeching, “You pursuaded him?”

“I did.” Dria looked Sansa square in the face.

“Dria… why?” Sansa said breathlessly.

“Because I knew how upset you were.”

“But…” Sansa’s words were heavy with her own guilty conscience, “After what I did to you…”

“It’s in the past now. Nothing to be done.” Dria said gently, taking Sansa’s hand. Sansa gave her fingers a squeeze, remorse covering her face. Arya frowned.

“What did Sansa do?!” She demanded, scrabbling at Dria’s other arm for attention. Dria looked at Arya and sighed.

“I guess there is no sense in hiding it from you now.” Dria took Arya’s hand with her other so that they sat in a chain. “I went behind your fathers back, Arya. I betrayed the Stark family.”

“No you didn’t.” Sansa argued. Dria looked at her, it was her turn to frown. This proved to be the first time Sansa had ever spoken nicely to her. “You didn’t betray the family at all.”

“What happened?!” Arya demanded.

“Dria is our sister now, Arya.” Sansa said. Dria smiled at her disbelievingly, seeing a side of her she had always known to exist but had never witnessed.

“What?” Arya asked.

“It’s a secret.” Sansa added.

“Not so much anymore.” Dria said heavily.

“How?” Arya looked at Dria.

“I married Jon.” Dria admitted with a small smile.

“What?!” Arya beamed. “That’s so great!” Dria let out a small laugh before Arya sat back. “But wait… he’s at the Wall.”

“I’m so sorry Dria.” Sansa whispered, tears in her eyes. Dria shook her head at her and wrapped her arm around her shoulders.

“You have nothing to apologise for.” Dria said, though her chest was tight.

“You told father?” Arya worked out, glaring at Sansa.

“It was a mistake and Sansa has been forgiven.” Dria said with a serious tone, urging Arya not to do anything. “What’s done is done.”

“But that means you’re not our sister. Not anymore. Once Jon takes his vows it cancels out any others, doesn’t it?” Arya frowned.

“It does.” Dria felt tears stinging her eyes. She took a deep shaking breath. “I will see him again.”

“How could father seperate you like that?!” Arya said indignantly, getting to her feet.

“I have forgiven him and so must you. Whether I am with Jon or not does not change how I care for you two. As far as I am concerned you are my sisters and that will never change.” Dria said firmly, squeezing Arya’s hand. “I’ve never had sisters, or siblings. My own brother died when I was young. It will be nice to have them now.” Dria smiled at them both. Sansa hesitated, then rested her head on Dria’s shoulder.

“Everything is going to be different now, isn’t it?” Sansa sighed.

“Yes, my darling.” Dria said, holding her tight as Arya sat back down and nestled into the other side. “I believe it is.”

Dria’s dreams were fitful that night. Dreams had forever plagued her, the curse of her birthplace. Mentioning her brother had brought up memories of her life back on Dauphin, of the grand hall in which she had grown up, of the variety of trade that passed through the small island, of the horrors of the civil war that had broken out between her father and uncle, forcing her and her mother to flee. Her dreams were filled with flame and screaming as brother fought brother, leaving Dria with the notion that what she was seeing were not necessarily memories but projections. She was a descendant of the House of Tawn, the most influential family in Dauphin, and that meant she was a descendant of the Goddess Delphi herself, blessed with prophetic dreams, a secret she kept to herself. Not even Jon knew.

When Dria woke the next morning it was to troubled thoughts. The reality of her memory of Dauphin was only of sailing away from the castle. When her mother and she had boarded the boat her home had not been in flames, that must have happened afterwards. Dria dressed and went to breakfast, only to find that Arya was to spend the day perfecting her skills as a swordsman and hunting cats and Mordane did not need Dria to care for Sansa. This left Dria with a free day, and she decided to use it by investigating the fate of Dauphin. When in Winterfell, and now Dria thought about it, Maester Luwin had always been careful to leave Dauphin out of his teachings with the younger Starks. House Tawn was seldom mentioned save to point out the sigil and words. Dauphin was shielded from Dria and only now did she begin to wonder why. As soon as breakfast was over Dria excused herself and headed into the main castle in the direction of the chamber of Grand Maester Pycelle, keeper of the ancient books of Westeros. Dria had never spoken two words to the man and was not even sure he could help her, but he seemed kind enough and it was worth a try. The castle of the Red Keep was enormous. Winterfell could easily have sit inside its main halls, let alone the rest of the North. After a few false starts Dria eventually found herself at Pycelle’s door. She knocked tentatively. It took a few moments for anyone to respond, by which point Dria had considered turning and forgetting about it. Then a shaky voice called out from behind the wood, “Enter.”

Dria drew herself up to her authorative height and pushed the wood so that the door creaked open. Pycelle’s rooms were not large and were made even smaller by the shelves and shelves of books on the wall. He himself sat at a small rickety desk in the centre of the room, stacks of books and scrolls precariously balanced in front of him. He wore the characteristic grey robes of the Maesters but his chain could have looped Luwin thrice. He looked up as she entered with a frown on his face.

“Can I help you?” He asked in his wizened voice.

“My apologies for disturbing you, sir.” Dria found herself bobbing an awkward curtsey and Pycelle sat back, chuckling. Dria cleared her throat and cleared her usually stable head. “My name is Adria. I work for Lord Stark. I care for his youngest daughter.” Her brains worked quickly to think of a reasonable story, “It is on her behalf that I have come to you.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, you see she is learning about the Great Houses of Westeros.”

“As all children should.” Pycelle said. Something about this young beauty with her thick Northern accent was greatly amusing him.

“Only the books I have brought with me from Winterfell only span those of the mainland.” Her mouth was forming words before her brain could check them. She had never known she was this competent at lying before now. “I wondered if you might have any that explore those offshore. Specifically the Iron Islands, Dauphin,” She panicked, trying to remember any others that might throw him off the trail. She didn’t know why exactly she was trying to cover up her search for Dauphin but something just told her he wouldn’t understand, “Tarth…” She settled on, sandwiching her intent between two innocent options. “I know you’re probably terribly busy and I’m so sorry to disturb,” She gabbled as an afterthought.

“Anything for a pretty young thing such as yourself.” Pycelle said with a creepy chuckle, pushing his old bones out of his chair and crossing to a shelf at a shuffle. Dria tried not to bristle at his comment as she watched him reach for a heavy tome and struggle with the weight of it. Instinctively she hurried forward to take it from him.

“Here, let me help you.”

“How kind of you.” Pycelle said, relinquishing his grip entirely as Dria took it all, using his now free hands to pat her on the backside so that she jerked uncomfortably. She swallowed, her mouth dry, and stepped away from him as soon as the book was in her arms. “That should be all you require.” He said, clearly oblivious to his actions being insensitive at all. Dria looked down at the title: _Great Houses of the Seas of Westeros_ and felt a wave of familiarity wash over her. “Anything else I can do for you?” Pycelle asked. He was looking at her hungrily and so she hurried back to the door.

“No, Sir. Thank you. I will have someone return the book as soon as we are done with it.”

“Anything for a pretty young thing.” Pycelle repeated, settling himself behind his desk again and leering at her. Dria smiled wanly at him and hurried from the room, the book grasped to her chest. She shuddered once she was out of sight and the door had closed behind her and hurried back to the Hand’s chambers.

She rounded the corner to one of the many corridors and found herself face to face with Lord Bailish, the master of coin. She apologised profusely as he held his hands up, smiling at her. “I’m so sorry my lord.”

“The fault is all mine, my lady. I should pay more attention to where I am going.”

“I’m not a lady.” Dria stammered as he glanced down at the book in her arms. “Just Dria. Adria.” She corrected herself.

“You work for Lord Stark, correct?” Littlefinger asked.

“It’s hard not to know that when you hear my accent.” Dria said awkwardly. Lord Bailish was a big deal and she had nearly barrelled into him. Her head was spinning. He tapped the spine of the book.

“Bit of education?”

“Yes, my lord. One can never know too much about the world we live in.”

“Indeed. Smart.” Littlefinger looked her up and down before stepping aside, “It was nice to have met you, Adria. Don’t let me keep you.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Dria nodded her head in a small curtsey as she stepped past him. He made to continue down the corridor with a glance at her when he was struck with an afterthought.”

“You haven’t seen Lord Stark have you? I believe the King is looking for him.”

“No.” Dria said quickly, wondering what Ned could have done, “Sorry.”

“No matter. Enjoy your studies.” Littlefinger tilted his head in her direction and she continued on her way, mind reeling.

An hour later saw Dria shut in her room just off that of the Stark girls, sitting on her bed pouring over the book. The colour plates in the chapter on Dauphin were beautiful, reems of pale blue and green and gold, oceanic colours that Dria recognised from her childhood. Each word was handwritten, describing the large white Doric pillars of the Tawn ancestral castle in the heart of Dauphin, the freshwater spring of truth that ran through the centre. Each day brought new pilgrims to the castle in search of the prophetic truth they may bring. Beside the colour plates of the Tawn castle was a map of the island. It was only small, and resembled a dolphin leaping from the water. The islands legend stated that originally it was built on the back of a giant dolphin, taking its shape, who kept it adrift during the ancient floods that were caused when the ice on the mainland melted after the Great Winter. The island was situated to the East of Westeros where the water begins to warm. The population was only small meaning often young men and women marry those from the mainland, such as Dria’s own mother, Romelda, who had come from Kings Landing. Dria blinked as she thought about her mother. The next page showed a colour portrait of a man Dria recognised as her grandfather, Isiah, who stood with his two young sons. Dria knew the elder of the boys was her father, Simeon, and the other her treacherous uncle, Jaison. Jaison hated living in his brothers shadow. Dria felt tears well up in her throat as she thought about her father for the first time in years. It took a few moments for the text on the page to register. In a different cursive to the rest of the text an addendum had been added beside the Tawn family crest: a dolphin on a sea of blue with the words _Head Above Water_ beneath it. The addendum read: _“Lord Simeon Tawn was usurped by his younger brother Jaison in a civil war that all but wiped out the native population. Jaison currently rules Dauphin as an island of ruin. Flames licked the sky as Simeon met his end. The whereabouts of Simeon’s wife and daughter are unknown. Jaison’s son, Pyrsy, is heir apparent.”_

Dria felt a sob escape her chest as the words confirmed her dream as a prophetic memory. They had been getting stronger lately, it was getting hard to tell them apart. Dria snapped the book shut and lay back on her bed, her fingers in her mouth as she sobbed silently. For three years she had lived another life, escaping her past and trying to move on. She didn’t know if it was because Kings Landing was closer to the sea or whether it was her own grief causing her dreams to become more frequent, but she was suddenly terrified that she would dream something terrible about the family she had grown to know and love that would be out of her control.

Dria was standing in a sandy square outside of what must have been a brothel judging by the noises from inside. She was surrounded by goldcloaks, led by Jaime Lannister, standing off against the leather clad men of Ned’s personal Northern guard. Dria watched helplessly as incoherent words were exchanged and then the Northerners were slaughtered and Jaime himself drove his weapon into the back of Ned’s knee. Ned dropped to the ground as blood mingled with the sand, and Dria woke with a gasp. She was drenched in cold sweat and it took her a moment to remember where she was. When she did, she hurried into Arya and Sansa’s room to find Arya packing and Sansa sulking.

“What are you doing?” Dria asked, her voice shaking.

“Father says we’re too leave.” Arya said.

“What? Why?”

“He didn’t say.” Arya said.

“Because he hates me and doesn’t want me to be happy.” Sansa said poutily. Dria frowned, not liking the situation one bit.

“Where is your father?” She asked.

“He went into the city about an hour ago. Littlefinger called him for something. I don’t trust him. He runs a brothel…” Arya said with disgust in her voice. Dria felt faint.

“No.” Dria said, her voice panicky. “Not Littlefinger.” She hurried past the girls and into the main chamber, stopping at Septa Mordane turned to her with a dark expression. She shut the main door after she finished speaking with the guard outside.

“Tell the girls to stop packing.” Mordane said as Dria skidded to a halt.

“What is it?” Dria asked. Mordane gave her a heavy look.

“Their father has been stabbed. By Jaime Lannister. He has fled the city. Ned is recovering.”

Dria’s hand flew to her mouth, horrified.

“Jory is dead.” Mordane sat down with a heavy sigh. “Tell the girls to stop packing.”

Dria nodded slowly and turned to do as she was told. This was what she had been afraid of. They had come to a dangerous place, Ned had said it, and she had been able to do nothing to stop it. At least he was still alive. She prayed she would not foresee any different.

“Come here, child.” Ned held his hand out to Dria as she lingered in the doorway, having accompanied Arya and Sansa to say goodnight. “Run along girls.” Ned called as Mordane gave him a quizzical look. “I wish to speak with Adria.”

The door closed as Dria stepped closer to the bed. Ned gestured for her to step closer, wincing in pain as he did. Dria obliged and took the hand that he was offering.

“I wish to apologise.”

“My lord,” Dria said with a shaky voice. She perched on the edge of the bed as Ned gestured with his head. “You have nothing…” She began, but Ned interrupted her.

“I have everything to apologise for. What I did was not what I should have done. I was angry when I sent Jon to the Wall. I was angry when I brought you here. I was not thinking, and now you and Jon have no chance to be happy.”

Dria swallowed her dry mouth and looked at him for a long time. Eventually she sighed and looked away from him. “Your daughters needed me.” Dria argued feebly but Ned shook his head. He was determined for Dria to hear him.

“I could have found someone else to care for Arya.”

“I do not wish for anyone else to care for Arya.” Dria said with a small shake of her own head. “I care for her as my own sister. For them both. What was done was done, my lord, and nothing can change it now. If Jon and I are fated to be together the Gods will see fit to make it so. Otherwise, this is the life I have been given and this is the life I must live.” Dria finished diplomatically. Ned gave her a small smile.

“Spoken like a true warrior or strong heart, my dear.” He said with a squeeze of her hand. His expression changed as a thought crossed his mind. He looked at her appealingly. “I hope you will always do your best to protect them.” Ned said darkly. Dria frowned at him.

“Of course I will, my lord.”

"Take them North. Away from this dreadful place."

"My lord?"

"Do it, Dria. For me."

Dria frowned but did not argue. She nodded slowly. "I will."

“I think of you as my daughter, Dria. I hope you know that.”

“I do, my lord.” Dria smiled meekly at him.

“Go on. Away with you.” He released her hand.

Dria stood and made to leave, but turned as her hand reached the door handle. “Everything is going to be alright, isn’t it? This incident is isolated and you are safe?”

“Is anyone ever safe with lions prowling the corridors?” Ned said finitely. Dria swallowed but did not push it, bowing her head and leaving the room. She thought about his words as she continued to the chamber of the Hand. All thoughts of her own problems faded from her mind as she worried for the House she had come to love.

An arena that vastly resembled the square outside of the Red Keep. Vast crowds buffeted Dria to and fro. Arya held on to her hand, but Sansa was nowhere to be seen as they fought to get a better view. The crowd parted and Dria could see a fight occuring in the dirt. The fight was between King Robert and Lord Stark were allied against a boar and... Dria couldn’t make out Ned’s opponent. That was until he was impaled by a shard of ice to the neck, just as the boar stuck its tusks in the King’s large stomach. As Ned and Robert both dropped to their knees in the dirt Dria noticed a lioness prowl around the edge, and opposite her, clear amongst the flailing crowd, was a man dressed in mottled leather with a bulls head.

“Wake up, child.” Septa Mordane shook Dria from her fevered dream. Dria looked about her. She had fallen asleep in a chair by the fire, her sewing on her lap. “Go to bed.” Mordane ordered. Dria nodded and got obligingly to her feet as she thought about her dream. As she shut her door and tucked her knife beneath her pillow Dria couldn’t help but panic at the message it had presented. Who was the man with the bulls head who had been watching her so intently? She was sure the lioness was Cersei, entrapping them all. Why had Sansa been absent?

One thing from the dream was sure.

The King was going to die, and so was Lord Stark.

And there was nothing she could do to stop it.


	5. Episode 1: Love Without Boundaries (Pt. 5)

It was as Dria sat watching Arya’s dancing lesson with Syrio Forel, marvelling at how quick and effortless Arya was becoming with the sword in her hand, that she first heard the screams. Neither Syrio nor Arya seemed to hear them, their hearing deafened by the sound of wooden swords and Syrio’s instructions, but from where Dria was sat on the steps she could hear it plain as day. Swords, screams, and the unmistakeable sound of fighting. Dria slowly got to her feet, trying to make sense of what she was hearing and where it was coming from, when the door at the other end of the room burst open. Ser Meryn Trant, one of the highest ranking Kingsguard, came into the room in full armour, his helmet covering his face.

“Arya Stark,” He commanded, his men behind him, “Come with us. Your father wants to see you.”

Arya made to walk innocently towards Meryn but Syrio stepped in front of her, not buying Meryn’s words. Dria stepped down from her observation point and put a hand on Arya’s shoulder as Syrio questioned why the Lannisters were being sent by Lord Stark. Arya looked up at Dria who gave her a narrowed eye expression that told her all she needed. This man was not to be trusted.

“Mind your place dancing master,” Meryn scolded, “This is no place of yours.”

“My father wouldn’t send you.” Arya said bitterly, realising how stupid she had almost been. She pulled out of Dria’s grip to step forward a little but Syrio made sure to keep her well behind him. Dria watched helplessly as Arya picked up her wooden sword and threatened Ser Meryn with it. “And I don’t have to go with you if I don’t want.”

A fearful expression passed between Syrio and Dria as Meryn laughed. Syrio gave Dria the slightest of head gestures, telling her to take Arya and run. Dria stepped forward again and scrabbled for Arya’s arm but Arya shrugged her off.

“Arya please.” Dria hissed, worried as to where this might go. Her suspicions were confirmed as Meryn ordered his soldiers to take Arya. Syrio laughed, holding them off whilst Dria dragged Arya desperately backwards. Arya was faltering, knowing Dria was right, as Syrio knocked one of the men unconscious. “Arya!” Dria hissed.

“Kill the Bravosi, bring the girl. Do what you want with the whore.” Meryn said, turning his back on them all. Syrio sized himself up to the incoming soldiers.

“Arya child we are done with dancing for today.” He said confidently as Arya watched helplessly. “Take Dria and run to your father. Far away from here.”

Dria clutched Arya’s hand and pulled her up the steps. Arya let her, but begged Syrio to come with them. They watched helplessly as Syrio singlehandedly took out the handful of Lannister soldiers, leaving only Meryn to face. Syrio laughed and smiled at Arya..

“What do we say to the god of death, child?” He asked calmly as Meryn squared up to him. 

“Not today.” Arya whispered. She was staring dumbstruck as Meryn raised his sword on the helpless Syrio.

“Arya, come.” Dria said, pushing Arya in front of her as they reached the door. Arya hurried out of it as Dria turned to Syrio, not sure of what to say. He gave her a sad smile.

“Protect her, lovely girl.” Syrio said with a light wink.

“Thank you.” Dria said, her voice shaking. She turned her back on Syrio as the sound of fighting rang out behind her. Arya was waiting for her in the corridor.

“What’s happening?!” Arya asked as Dria pushed her onwards down the steps.

“Run, Arya.” Dria urged as they ran down the steps, both panting and Dria trying not to cry in fear.

“Where’s father?!”

“I don’t know.” Dria replied as they rounded a corner. She did not recognise the corridor but the sound of fighting rang out all around them. She pushed Arya further down the staircase.

“Where are we going?!”

“Far away from here.” Dria said, thinking fast. They needed to get out and then they would regroup, rethink.

“What about Sansa?!” Arya asked as they ran down a corridor. They stopped as Dria didn’t recognise where they were again.

“Sansa is guarded.” She said, not fully believing her words. “We have to get out.” She could see Arya’s face crumpling as she stared behind Dria at the shadows growing on the walls. “Arya, listen to me. You know these corridors better than me. Where do we go?!”

“Follow me.” Arya said, snatching up Dria’s hand and running with her down a corridor. “Down!” She pulled Dria down a set of stairs to the dungeons below the castle where she had chased the cat. She began to chant, “Not today,” with every step they took. Dria snatched a torch from the wall as it grew darker and colder. The smell of decay was all around. Dria tripped on her long skirts and hauled them up around her waist, cursing herself for her choice of clothing. As they came out of the tunnel they were in just next to the stables. The path was clear of soldiers as the wind hit her face. Dria thought briefly of the fact she was wearing a black woolen gown over a white underdress and her hair was flying out of its plaits. She was not dressed for the weather outside, nor was Arya in her woolen trousers and blouse. They were inside clothes, but there was no way they could stay inside if what Dria feared had happened truly had.

They rounded the corner to see the remaining Stark men slain as they packed the carriage for their return to the North. Arya’s trunk was strewn across the ground and she ran to it as Dria looked in horror at the men on the ground. As Arya dug for her needle amongst her belongings Dria ran to her own trunk and dug for the knife Jon had given her. She clutched it to her chest as she pulled out her cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders. She was disrupted by the sound of a stable-boy emerging from inside. He threatened Arya, telling her he would hand her over, and then Dria watched in horror as Arya ran him through with needle. Arya looked at her, her expression unreadable as she looked at needle, dripping with blood. Dria said nothing as she reached out for Arya’s hand, taking it and leading her away from the stables. They couldn’t risk bringing anything else along. They had to get out of here, now. They ran down a side alley and Dria gestured for Arya to hide needle as they disappeared into the masses of people crowded in the market outside the Red Keep. They would find somewhere to lay low until Dria understood the situation. One of her visions had come true, that of King Robert and his death by boar. She feared for Ned’s life, but right now she had to protect the one charge she had managed to escape with. She tried not to think about Sansa, prayed to every God that her being betrothed to the King meant she was safe.

“It’s Adria, right?”

Dria looked up from cleaning up the mess on the floor where Arya had thrown her plate in a temper. She herself must have looked a fright. It was into the eyes of the Stark bastard that she looked. For a moment she felt her breath leave her lungs.

She had been 13 when she had first met Jon Snow. He had been a few weeks short of his 14th birthday and was already strong in stature, his face more resembling Lord Stark then any of his brothers. His eyes were kind and this was the first thing Dria noticed. 

“Y... yes, my lord.” Dria stammered.

“Don’t call me that.” Jon said, shaking his head. “I’m just Jon.”

“I can’t... I can’t call you that. Septa Mordane would give me the rod if she heard me.”

“I want you to.” His expression softened. Dria swallowed hard and looked about her.

“I suppose if it’s what you want.”

“Let me help with that.” Jon crossed over to her and stooped to help her pick up the remnants of his sisters breakfast. “Arya can be quite the handful. It’s good that my father has assigned someone specifically to her.” Their faces were close together as he smiled at her. “You seem like you could do my sister well.”

“She’s young. Not that much younger than me, actually. She doesn’t take me seriously.”

“A word of advice?” They both stood as the mess was cleared. “Arya responds badly to authority, much better to demonstration.” Jon handed over the plate. “She likes weapons. Maybe go for a walk to the woods and ask her to spar with sticks. She’ll love you forever if you do.” Jon smiled. Dria frowned at him.

“Why are you helping me? You owe me nothing.”

“I know what it’s like to feel like you have nowhere to belong.” Jon’s smile turned sad. “I knew from the moment I saw you that you were special, but you were also like me. I want to be friends, if I may.”

“I don’t think that’s allowed.” Dria said tentatively. “I’m a servant.”

“I’m a bastard, Adria. It’s hardly any different.” His eyes sparkled as he smiled once more, before turning and heading back out of the room.

“It’s Dria.” Adria called after him. He stopped and turned to her. “My friends call me Dria.”

“Dria.” Jon said with a small smile.

It was in that moment that Dria realised she had feelings for the Stark bastard.

Dark dreams and memories plagued Dria as the days passed. More than ever her thoughts turned to Jon a million miles away. Arya and Dria kept on the move around the streets of Kings Landing. Word spread of Lord Ned Stark’s arrest. He was accused of treason, as Dria found out when she begged for scraps from a baker's boy. She decided not to inform Arya of this specific fact. They had no money on them, having run without thinking, and were both succumbing to hunger. Arya was struggling with being so far from her family, worrying for her sister. They had made their way to fleabottom, the poorest part of the citadel and Arya had realised that pigeons would make a good meal if they could find a way to cook them. She caught one and handed it to Dria to find somewhere to cook it, with the promise she would stay put until Dria returned. Dria ventured onto the streets of fleabottom from their hideout in an old stall. She had heard that there were blacksmiths up around this part of fleabottom, blacksmiths who may loan their fire.

It was as she passed an inn that a fat man with a ruddy face cornered her against the wall, pushing her up against the stone so that she was winded. She dropped the pigeon as he put a hand to her throat and leered at her, running his sausage fingers over her chest. She tried to fight him off, to hit out, to get to her knife but he held her fast.

“Get off me!” She screamed, but he covered her mouth.

“This won’t take long.” He promised, holding her in place with one hand as he fumbled with his belt. She took the opportunity to bite him and he temporarily let go. She tried to run but he caught her and dragged her backwards, screaming and fighting against his grip.

“No, please!” Dria shouted.

“The lady said no.” A voice came from behind her and in the next moment the man holding her fell to the ground, unconscious and bleeding from the head. She composed herself, pulling her ripped dress around her chest to cover herself and brushing her hair out of her face. She looked down at her attacker and then up at her saviour. He was about her age, maybe a little older, and tall and strong looking. He had black hair and blue eyes and he offered a kind smile as he put the poker in his hand under his arm.

“Thank you, sir.” Dria said, her voice shaking.

“Gendry.” The man said.

“Ad...” Dria replied, then faltered. He seemed kind enough but she was shaken from the attack, and with everything going on in the castle she was probably wanted. “...rianne.” She replied with a hard swallow.

“Nice to meet you Adrianne.” Gendry smiled at her. “What are you doing down here alone?” He asked with a concerned expression. “This is no place for a lady.”

“I, er…” Dria stooped and picked up the pigeon. “I was looking for somewhere to cook this. My… er… I find myself without means.” She shrugged slightly.

“You’re welcome to use my fire.” Gendry said, gesturing at the smiths sign behind him, “As long as you don’t tell my master.” He smiled at her. Dria nodded cautiously and followed him inside. It was warm inside the smiths and she watched as Gendry crossed to the fire in the centre and moved some things. He gestured for her to hand him the pigeon and began to pluck it for her as she looked around. Her chest tightened as she caught sight of a bulls head helmet behind him, her mind filling with the bull-headed man in her vision. She looked back at Gendry as he spit-roasted the pigeon. He noticed her looking at him in fear but misread her meaning. “Don’t worry.” He said gently, “I’m not going to hurt you. I don’t make a habit of assaulting ladies.”

“I’m not a lady.” Dria shook her head.

“Women then.” Gendry said kindly as he turned the bird. “You came this far down here to cook a pigeon?” He asked with a raised eyebrow.

“How do you know I’m not from here?” Dria asked, folding her arms defensively.

“I know the women around here.” He said with a small laugh, “None of them are a patch on you.” He caught himself, realising he was potentially speaking out of turn. “What I mean is… you seem refined.” He shrugged slightly. Dria couldn’t help but smile slightly at how endearing her was. The adrenaline from her attack was still coursing through her body and she rubbed her hands as she shivered. “Are you cold?” She shook her head. “I was going to say, it’s pretty hot in here.” He smiled again. His charisma was infectious. “You still haven’t told me why you’re down here.”

“I…” She swallowed. “I had to leave where I lived.” Even that was too much.

“Sounds intriguing.” Gendry pushed gently.

“It’s not.” Dria shut down the conversation with a single look into his blue eyes. She swallowed hard as he smiled once again. He pulled the pigeon out of the fire and inspected it, then pulled it off the rod, wrapped it in a rag and handed it to her.

“Cooked to perfection.” He said. “I hope it helps.”

Dria took it with a shaking hand. “Thank you.” She breathed as their hands touched momentarily before he retracted his hand. “For everything.”

“I would say come back next time you need a bird cooked, but my master will be back.” He folded his thick arms heavily. Dria wanted nothing more than to stay and talk to him but she knew she had to get back to Arya.

“I hope our paths will cross again.” She said with a glance at the helmet.

“I hope so too.” Gendry said with a warm smile. “Give me call next time you need rescuing.”

Dria smiled gratefully at him and left the shop. He stood in the doorway watching as she disappeared into the crowd. She was determined not to look back, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that this man was important. Why else would she have dreamed of him?

Days passed. They survived on scraps and slept in doorways. Dria fought the urge to return to fleabottom and see the smith who had treated her so kindly. Arya was beginning to crumble under the upset she had faced. As another day rolled down Dria told Arya to go and catch another pigeon, unable to keep away any longer from Gendry and his fire. Arya obliged and Dria waited patiently, keeping Arya in her eyeline, as Arya caught the pigeon. They were prevented from returning to fleabottom, however, by the sound of bells ringing and a sudden surge of crowds heading towards the Sept.

“What’s happening?” Dria caught the arm of a woman carrying her baby.

“They’re taking the Hand of the King to the Sept.” The woman gabbled before hurrying away. Arya caught Dria’s arm, making her jump. She had been at the foot of the steps just moments before.

“Dria!” Arya sounded panicked, “It’s father!”

“Come on.” Dria caught Arya’s hand and they hurried along with the crowd, all thoughts of the blacksmith thrown from Dria’s mind. She had to be there for her sister now.

They followed the crowd into the square and Arya fought their way through to a statue in the centre. Dria gave her a leg up so she could perch on it for a better view, and she herself strained to see as the crowd grew around them. There was a makeshift platform in front of the Sept, banners flying behind it of the Sept and of House Baratheon. The King, Queen Regent and a handful of guards stood atop of it. Alongside them, as Arya and Dria both realised with a horrified glance at each other, was Sansa. She looked unharmed but shaken as she mirrored Cersei in stance.

“What is she doing up there?!” Arya spat.

“Her duty.” Dria replied in a monotone. The crowds chattered and gasped and shouted as Ned Stark was dragged, chained, out of the building. Arya made to move but Dria caught her arm and held her firmly in place. There was no sense in them all getting captured. Things were made worse when Ned clearly saw Arya crouched on the statue. He struggled, trying to get to her, and Dria held Arya down.

“That’s my father.” Arya argued.

“I know.” Dria whispered as Ned was led to the stage. He was dragged, limping, up the steps as the crowd shouted ‘traitor’ around them. Dria fought tears in her eyes as she tried to stay strong for Arya. She knew what was about to come as she saw Ilyn Payne, the executioner, step forward with Ned Stark’s own sword: Ice. Her vision was about to come true and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

Ned was forced to stand before the crowd, oblivious to Ilyn Payne behind him. He made a confession to the people, a false confession. Arya reached for her sword but Dria stayed her hand.

“What are you going to do?” Dria said, trying not to sob, “Take them all on?”

“I have to do something.” Arya said.

“Not today.” Dria replied, holding her hand. Ned was hit in the face and stumbled but the Hound, personal bodyguard of the King, held him in place. They watched, horrified, as Ned continued with his false confession. Ned was forced to his knees as he awaited punishment and Pycelle addressed the crowd, and then King Joffrey stood to have his say.

“My mother wishes me to let Lord Eddard join the Nights Watch,” Dria felt a pang in her heart as the King mentioned the watch, “Stripped of all titles and powers, he would serve the realm in permanent exile. And my Lady Sansa…” Joffrey paused to look at Sansa who gave him an innocent smile. Dria wondered what she had been doing in the weeks that had passed since Ned’s capture. “Has begged mercy for her father.” There was a pause, and then Joffrey turned to the crowd and his voice changed from one of light-hearted address to malicious intent. “But they are the soft hearts of women!” The crowd erupted and Dria held Arya down, “So long as I am you King treason shall never go unpunished!” There was a pause and then Joffrey spoke the unspeakable, “Ser Ilyn, bring me his head.”

Dria had seen it coming and now here it was. She fought to keep Arya in place as the crowd erupted, shouts of agreement and argument surrounding them. The crowd began to move and Dria lost her grip on Arya.

“Arya, no!” She shouted as Arya jumped off the statue and ran through the crowd. Dria fought to follow her, ducking arms and elbowing people out of the way so as not to lose her charge. She caught up to her as a man in all black caught Arya’s arm and held her fast.

“Let go!” Dria hit out at the man but he caught her wrist and held them both in place.

“Turn away, the both of you! Don’t look!” The man shouted, holding them fast, Arya’s head against his leather chest and Dria in his wrist. Dria shut her eyes but could hear Sansa pleading for them to stop above the crowd around them. She dissolved into sobs and the man shook her. “Hold it together.” He ordered. There was the sound of a sword swinging and a thunk, and the man began to drag them through the crowd and out of the square. Dria opened her eyes and fought against him, hitting out at him with her fists.

“Let go of me! Let go of us!” She shouted, but the man carried them into an alley off the square and threw Dria down on the ground.

“Stop fighting me and listen!” He shouted as Dria instantly dragged herself back to her feet. The man pushed Arya up against the wall.

“Keep your mouth shut, boy!” The man ordered.

“I’m not a boy!” Arya argued as the man brought out a blade. Dria recognised it as her own, taken from her belt in the struggle. Dria watched as he sliced off Arya’s hair.

“You’re not a smart boy, is that what you’re trying to say?” He asked as Arya’s hair fell to the ground and Arya sobbed. “North, boy. We’re going North.”

Dria forced herself to calm down, forcing herself to drown out the crowd and the sound of the sword and the head - Ned’s head - hitting the platform. She looked properly at the man in front of her and listened to what he said.

“You’re with the Watch.” She breathed as Arya’s haircut was complete. The man turned to her and, after hesitating, held out the knife.

“Yoren.” He said as Dria took back her knife.

“He asked you to pick up Arya.” Dria put two and two together, her head swimming, “Lord Stark.”

“Aye.” He said. “And I suppose you’re collateral damage.” He looked over Dria’s body before meeting her eye again. “We’re not going to disguise you easily.”

“Disguise me?” Dria asked, pulling her cloak about herself. Yoren stepped away from Arya and Arya fell into Dria’s arms, sobbing. She held her and rocked her slightly as she continued to look at Yoren.

“I’ll take you both North. To Winterfell.” Yoren began to push them, still clutching each other, down the alleyway. “You’ll have to keep your wits about you, my lady. I travel with many men who would sooner fuck you or kill you.”

Dria gasped, unsure what to think, as they rounded a corner.

“This one will become Arry. Arry the orphan boy. Going North to the Wall. Nobody asks an orphan too many questions. Half of these men we’re travelling with would turn you over to the Queen before you can say ‘pardon’. And the other half would do the same except they’d rape you first.” They exited the alleyway and Arya managed to compose herself, pulling away from Dria and squaring up to Yoren.

“What about Dria?” She asked.

Yoren once more looked Dria up and down, taking in her womanly physique. “We’ll say you’ve bought protection to go North. We’ll say anyone who lays a finger on you will answer to me.”

“And if that doesn’t scare them?” Dria asked in a whisper, fear coursing through her veins.

“Learn how to use that pretty little knife of yours.” Yoren warned as they came into a square filled with horses and men preparing for departure. Before Yoren let them loose, he caught Dria’s arm. “Stay close, my lady. I’ll see no harm comes to you.”

“Thank you.” Dria breathed. Yoren nodded and gestured at a horse and trap. Dria drifted over to it, preparing to climb inside, when she realised Arya had gone from her side. She turned around in a panic, her head already spinning, to see Arya in a word match with a fat boy. She hurried over to help but Arya seemed to have it well in hand as she pulled out needle and threatened him.

“I’ve already killed one fat boy,” Arya threatened, “I bet you’ve never killed anyone. I bet you’re a liar, but I’m not.” Arya was backing the fat boy up to a man at a cart who Dria vaguely recognised. She gasped as she remembered where she had seen him, stopping short of Arya’s conquest in shock. Arya backed the fat boy right up into the man and the man turned.

“You like picking on the little ones, do you?” He threatened the boy, “You know I’ve been hammering anvil these past ten years. When I hit that steel it sings. Are you going to sing when I hit you?” He finished as the boy hurried off. The man was level with Arya now, and he picked up her sword and asked her where she stole it. She argued that it was a gift, but the man wasn’t listening. He had noticed Dria, who stepped forwards so Arya knew she was there too. “My lady Adrienne?” He asked with a frown. Arya raised her eyebrow.

“Gendry.” Dria said quietly with an acknowledging nod of her head. Arya looked between them, confused. “You’re joining the watch?”

“I am. Why are you here?”

“I paid Yoren to take me North.” She said quietly. “Me and my brother Arry.” She put a hand on Arya’s shoulder.

“You know each other?”

“This is the man who cooked our pigeon, Arry.” Dria said, disliking the new name Arya had been given. “He’s a blacksmith.”

“Not anymore. My master got sick of me. Said I took too many liberties.”

“Did he find out about me?” Dria asked worriedly. Gendry laughed and shook his head.

“No.” He looked her over and then Arya, and then looked back at Dria. “It’s a bit dangerous travelling with this lot, isn’t it? A beautiful woman like you.” He blushed a little.

“Yoren has promised to keep me safe.” Dria shrugged.

“Well,” Gendry smiled at her. “When his back is turned you can count on me.”

“Thank you.” Dria said softly, putting a hand on Arya’s shoulder. “It seems I will forever be indebted to you.”

“I don’t take score.” He said. He frowned at the tear stains on Dria’s dirtied face. “You are sad?”

“Our father.” Arry said, as she looked up at Dria, “He’s dead.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. That’s why you’re heading North?” Gendry asked. Dria nodded. They were interrupted from further conversation by Yoren shouting for them to move out. Dria and Arya crossed to the designated horse and trap and Dria helped Arya up as it began to pull away. She hesitated, unsure of how to get up herself.

“Here.” Gendry said, his eyes asking permission before he put his hands on her waist and lifted her up and onto the trap. She gave him a thankful smile and he returned to get his own cart, walking behind them as Dria and Arya settled in for the journey ahead. Dria’s thoughts turned to Lord Stark and the vision that had come true. She looked at the blacksmith following and realised that all parts of her vision were done now. This man was going to be important, she knew it.

She also knew they were heading North. She felt sick at the thought of leaving Sansa behind, but these men were going to the Wall, where Jon was. She hadn’t thought about Jon for a while, too preoccupied with surviving on the streets and eluding capture. Now she thought about him she suddenly felt guilty, like she was being unfaithful to him. He was no longer her husband by his vows, but in her eyes they were still married in the eyes of the Gods. At least being back in the North would mean she was closer to him. She prayed she would not get a vision about him. She had lost too many to lose anymore.

****


	6. Episode 2: Shaken Loyalties (Pt. 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the road North the small band is attacked by gold cloaks and Gendry learns the truth about Arry and Adrienne.

“Are you cold?” Jon asked, looking over Dria in concern. She had been 15, they were on one of Lord Stark’s pilgrimages to the other Houses of the North. His way of ratifying the people. They had stopped to make camp. Darkness had gathered and Arya was off somewhere arguing with her sister. Dria had taken the opportunity to stand alone, to collect her thoughts. Jon stood beside her in as nonchalant a way as he could manage.

“No.” Dria replied. After two years in the North her accent matched his and she had already hardened to the conditions.

“Will you walk with me?” Jon asked.

“What if we are seen?”

“We’ll say we’re talking about the weather.” Jon said with a bewitching smile. After two years of their secret relationship they had got very good at excuses. Dria nodded and they turned away from the camp to wander deeper into the patch of woodland they had stopped in. The trees were not so thick that they could not see the stars and as they walked Dria looked up at them. “I’ve never understood the stars.” Jon said quietly. “When Robb and I were boys Maester Luwin would try to get us to learn their names but I never saw the point.”

“You learn their names to find your way when lost.” Dria said quietly. “On Dauphin we call it wayfaring. Sailors use it to find their way home.”

“How?”

“You see that star there?” She pointed. “That’s Aeksio. He’s the Lord star, the brightest in the sky. And he never moves. He stays constant, so we use him to find our way home.” She held up her fingers. “The distance between the tip of my finger here, with the star, you see, and my thumb is how far it is home.”

Jon was barely listening. He was watching her face. “I love you.” He said softly. Dria lowered her hand and looked at him with a small smile.

“And I love you, Lord Snow.” She lovingly adjusted his cloak strap so as to face her body to his.

“Why do you call me that?” Jon asked.

“Because. You may not be a Lord by title or land, but you will always be my lord. My Aeksio. My true north, and my way home.” She kissed him softly on the lips. 

Dria shivered inside her cloak as she woke from her sleep. The wind had picked up around where she sat on a large tree root. They were in the process of making camp in the woods in the middle of Gods only knew were. They had been travelling for days and Dria was slowly becoming exhausted. Despite Gendry and Yoren promising to watch out for her she barely slept, not wanting to trust the fate of herself and Ned Stark’s youngest daughter to someone else. He had trusted her with Arya’s life and she was going to take it seriously. Not an hour went by without Dria feeling guilty that she could not do the same for Sansa.

“Are you cold? You should move by the fire.” A familiar voice came from behind her, and she looked up to see Gendry with his arms full of logs for said fire. He sat beside her on the root.

“Too risky.” Dria said heavily, glancing at where the burliest of the men for the Watch were gathered around the small fire. Gendry pursed his lips in agreement.

“Yeah. I can see that.” He offered unhelpfully. He looked at her, and then over at where Arya was practicing her swordsmanship with a stick against a tree not too far away from Dria. “Arry doesn’t seem all that bothered.”

“He’s a hard nut.” Dria said, blinking as she remembered to misgender Arya for her own protection, “Northerners always are.”

“If you do say so yourself.” Gendry laughed.

“I’m not Northern.” Dria said quickly. “Not really.”

“You sure sound it.” Gendry’s eyebrows knitted together in a frown.

“I…” She caught herself and remembered the lie she had told him back in Kings Landing. She couldn’t tell him the truth until she knew for sure she could trust him. “No. You’re right.” She settled on. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Your father.” Gendry said, “He was Northern?”

“You ask a lot of questions.” Dria shot at him as she caught herself again, almost about to deny Ned being her father.

“I do.” Gendry shrugged. “I’m curious.”

“Well, your curiosity might just get you into trouble one of these days.”

“Is that a threat, my lady?” Gendry laughed.

“I’ve told you. I’m not a lady.”

“What should I call you then, if not ‘my lady’” Gendry asked.

“Why must you call me anything?” Dria said. She didn’t want to push him away but she was terrified for Arya’s safety. Gendry was determined.

“Because. It’s the polite thing to do.”

“I suppose your mother told you that.”

“I don’t know. She dies when I was small.”

Dria closed her eyes momentarily, exasperated. She remembered that he had told her that.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” She said.

“No matter. Where’s your mother?”

“Dead.” Dria said, then cursed herself. She was unable to keep herself from speaking the truth around him.

Gendry frowned as he looked at Arry. “But I thought Arry said you were going North to be with his brother and mother?”

Dria winced at the fact he presented, trying to work out how to get out of it. “I…” She stammered, and then decided she would not say anything else. “You ask all these questions about me but I know little about you. Who are you besides Gendry the blacksmith?”

“That’s about all there is.” Gendry shrugged. She hadn’t got away with it, he knew she was hiding something from her. “My name is Gendry, I’m a bastard who never knew his father, my mother died when I was small and I’ve worked for my master until very recently.”

Dria frowned at him for a moment, trying to work out why she seemed to act like a bastard magnet.

“I would tell you more if there were more to tell.”

“There’s always more to tell. You ever had a lady?” Dria asked, determined it was her turn to ask the questions. Gendry reacted with surprise at her turning the questioning on him.

“Er, no.” Gendry said. “I’ve been with women, most men have when they live on the same street as a brothel,” Dria felt jealous all of a sudden and she had no explanation for it. “But no, no lady to call my own.”

“Why not?”

“Never found the right woman. What about you, you got a man?”

Dria looked away from him in a telling motion that made the penny drop.

“I get it.” He said. “You don’t have the same mother as Arry because Arry is your brother-in-law.” He clicked his fingers as she stared at him. “Now it all makes sense. Is that why you’re not a Northerner really? But your husband is?”

Dria felt her eyes fill with tears as she thought about Jon. “Has anyone ever told you you should have become a maester with intelligence like that.” Dria said, getting to her feet and walking away from him as she fought the urge to cry. Gendry, realising he had upset her, dropped the logs on the floor and hurried after her.

“Hey, I’m sorry if I upset you.” He said, gently taking her arm. She stopped walking at his touch. “I talk without thinking sometimes.”

“You didn’t upset me.” Dria offered him a false smile that fooled no one.

“Is he still alive? Your husband?” Gendry asked softly in case the subject was sensitive. “I’ve been told I’m a good listener if you ever need to talk.”

“It’s complicated.” Dria frowned. “But no. He’s not dead.” She blinked the tears from her moist eyes and smiled. “I’ll bear that in mind if I ever get lonely.” Her watery turquoise eyes met his strong blue ones and her smile faded slowly as she felt him searching her soul. They held the embrace for a moment before Arya interrupted, hurrying over in alarm. Dria pulled her arm out of Gendry’s grip and turned to Arya.

“Dria!” Arya said, not realising she had used Dria’s real name instead of her pseudonym and Gendry noticed. Arya did not care, too busy staring off at the trees behind her. “What are the goldcloaks doing so far from Kings Landing?!”

Panic rose in Dria’s chest as she turned to look where Arya was staring. Sure enough a pair of riders were visible beyond the tree line. Dria took Arya’s shoulder and tried to think clearly. “Get behind there.” She ordered in a hushed whisper, gesturing for Arya to duck behind a cart. Arya did as she was told, crouching low and pulling at Dria’s sleeve to hide beside her.

“What are you doing?!” Gendry asked, perplexed. He was still unsure he had heard Arry call Adrienne ‘Dria’.

“They’re looking for me.” Arya whispered back as Gendry looked from them to the gold cloaks.

They listened as the gold cloaks approached Yoren and an exchange was held, culminating in a statement that caused Arya and Dria to exchange terrified glances: “We’re looking for one of these gutter rats you’re transporting.”

Arya breathed heavily as Dria squeezed her hand, urging her to remain calm.

“Why are they looking for you Arry?!” Gendry asked in a hushed exclaim. “Why not both of you?!”

“I’m not important.” Dria whispered back. Gendry frowned, ready to argue. “Not to them.” She concluded as she looked back at Yoren and the gold cloaks, her heart beating fast. He was threatening the gold cloak, showing no fear. Then, the gold cloak made an announcement that shocked them all.

“We’re looking for a boy named Gendry. He wears a bulls head helmet.” Gendry looked shocked as Arya and Dria exchanged glances. Dria reached out and put a hand on Gendry’s as he began to panic. “Anyone turning him over will earn the Kings reward.” The gold cloak announced. Gendry squeezed Dria’s fingers gently as the gold cloak promised to return with more men. As the gold cloaks vacated the clearing Arya and Dria crawled out from behind the wagon. Gendry looked dumbstruck as he looked from the gold cloaks rear ends to Dria’s fingers in his own. She retracted them as an afterthought but offered him a concerned expression in compensation.

“Why do they want you?!” Arya asked indignantly as Gendry continued to look confused. He shrugged.

“Beats me. I just know I’ll need to sleep with one eye open from now on.”

“No you won’t,” Arya put a hand on needle’s hilt, “I’ll protect you.”

Gendry’s shocked expression broke as he smiled at her. “Thanks. I’ll bear that in mind.” He said. Arya didn’t pick up on his disbelief.

“Arry. Fetch Gendry a drink? I think he needs one.” Dria said. Arya didn’t look happy at being sent away but obliged as Dria gave her a look. As soon as Arya was out of earshot Dria turned to Gendry.

“Do you really not know?”

“I really don’t.” Gendry said with a frown. “I’ve not done anything to the King.”

“At all.”

“I’ve never even met any of the Baratheons. Or the Lannisters.” Gendry sounded offended at the thought now. Dria folded her arms and frowned at him.

“Then I wonder what it is. The Kings reward… it must be something big.”

“I tell you something.” Gendry said assuredly, “No-ones taking me anywhere I don’t want to go.”

Dria chuckled at his stern expression. For a moment she thought she had seen it somewhere before, but she shook off her questioning as Gendry turned the questions on her again.

“Why did Arry call you Dria?”

“What?” Dria’s head snapped towards him.

“Before. He called you Dria.”

“You must have misheard Adrienne.” Dria said, avoiding his eye contact. He shook his head.

“I’ve spent my life working steel over fire. My eyes are not great and my hands are rough, but I can hear just fine.” He was looking intently at her, his eyes burning into her face. “Your name isn’t Adrienne, is it?”

There was a pause, and then Dria shook her head.

“My name is Adria. Everyone calls me Dria.”

“Dria.” Gendry said, trying the name out. He smiled at her. “Nice to meet you.”

“Please keep it secret.” She pleaded, her eyes darting between his. He nodded.

“Your secret is safe with me. But perhaps I should carry on calling you ‘my lady’ if it means I won’t slip up.” He smiled cheekily at her. There was a pause, and then she actually broke into laughter. His own laugh faded as he looked deeply at her. “You have a beautiful smile, my lady.” Dria’s smile faded as she saw how he was looking at her.

“I’m tired.” She said, breaking the subject away. “I may retire.”

“I’ll watch out for you. I’m watching out for me anyway.” Gendry promised with a smile. “Pleasant dreams, my lady.”

She smiled wanly at him before walking away and finding herself a safe place to nap. Days without sleep were taking their toll. On the bright side no sleep meant no prophetic dreams, though what else could go wrong she did not know.

Her dream was not a vision, at least not one she could see. In truth she could not see anything at all. She was fighting her way through a snowstorm, so thick she could barely move. She knew she had to get to something but the snow was preventing her movement. Then she heard him. Jon. And he spoke only one phrase that made no sense to Dria in or out of the dream: “And now his watch has ended.”

The next day was the day Gendry discovered the truth about it all. They were preparing to move camp as Arya and Gendry washed pots in the stream. Dria sat just off from them, her thoughts engulfed in her dream and the phrase Jon had spoken. She considered asking Yoren about it as a man of the Watch, but she realised prophetic dreams were unheard of in this part of Westeros and she could not risk being carted off as a mad-woman. She was brought out of her thoughts by Arya following Gendry away from the stream and asking him about those who had come to ask questions. Gendry was beginning to get annoyed with Arya, and it was as Gendry recounted the times the Hands of the King - Aryn and Stark - had visited him that she began to wonder. She knew she had seen Gendry’s expressions before but she had not been able to tell why. Maybe this confession would take her closer. She got to her feet and closed the gap. Gendry nodded his head at her and smiled, though he was still mid-conversation with Arya. Both Arya and Dria argued when Gendry pointed out Arya was a girl.

“I’m not a girl!” Arya argued.

“Yes you are. You think I’m as stupid as the rest of them?” Gendry laughed. “Why else would your sister be so protective of you?!”

“I’m just protective.” Dria argued feebly, but Gendry gave her a look that told her it was not even worth trying.

“You two.” Gendry said with a shake of his head, “So full of secrets. Do you trust me enough yet to tell me the truth or do I have to assume it all myself?”

“We can’t.” Dria said weakly. “Please Gendry. Trust me.”

“Trust you? When you don’t trust me.” Gendry asked. For the first time Dria saw a chink in his armour but it wasn’t anger: it was hurt. She gasped as she recognised it in him and looked at him apologetically.

“Alright.” Dria breathed out as Arya looked horrified at her. Dria shot her a look to tell her she knew what she was doing. “I’m sorry. I do trust you.”

Gendry gave her a small smile of thanks.

“Hotpie and them lot can’t know.” Arya said.

Gendry looked between them and then focused on Arya. “They won’t hear it from me.”

Arya looked from Gendry to Dria, battling with a decision, and then spoke her truth. “My name’s not Arry. It’s Arya. Of House Stark. Yoren is taking me home to Winterfell.”

Gendry stopped what he was doing to stare at her. He looked from Arya to Dria. Dria offered him a small nod to confirm. He looked back at Arya. “So you’re a highborn then. You’re a lady.” He looked helplessly at Dria. “You both are.”

“I told you.” Dria said, blinking hard and stepping towards him in a bid to make him see, “I’m not a Lady”

“Dria is my sister-in-law. She married my bastard brother Jon, but Jon was sent to the Wall as punishment.” Arya gabbled. Gendry stared at her and then looked at Dria. Dria hung her head, a single tear rolling down her cheek.

“So he’s not dead.” Gendry breathed.

“But he may well as be.” Dria said in a heavy voice. She let out a single sob and Arya hurried to hug her around the waist. Dria stroked Arya’s head and gently pushed her away, not wanting her to jeopardise her credentials. Gendry was fighting an internal battle as he turned back to Arya.

“I’ve been pissing in front of you,” Gendry sounded affrunted, “I should be calling you my lady.”

“Don’t call me my lady.” Arya snapped.

“As my lady commands.” Gendry said, his smile returning as Arya shoved him hard. “Well that was unladylike.” Gendry added and Arya shoved him again, knocking him down. Arya glanced at Dria before storming off. Dria watched her go and looked to where Gendry was still lying on the floor. She wiped away her tear and held her hand out to Gendry. He took it and she hauled him to his feet. “I am sorry.” He said. “If I offended you…”

Dria shook her head lightly. “Now you know everything.” Their hands were still clasped as she looked up at him. He offered her a sad smile.

“Not everything. I know about Arya’s family. But… if you’re her sister-in-law does that not mean you’re highborn too? Aren’t there rules? Even if your husband is a bastard…” He swallowed hard, “He’s still an entitled one.”

Dria frowned at him, wondering where this was coming from. “I am… was… Arya’s maid. I’m not from the North but I spent a lot of time there. I was a refugee and my Lord Stark was kind enough to give me a position. I’m not a Lady because I have no inheritance, not by blood, not by marriage.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll call you something else.” Gendry realised how much he may have hurt her.

“Just call me Dria.” Dria said. “That’s what my friends call me.” She gave him a gentle smile and he returned it with a small nod.

“Dria.” He whispered. Dria looked down at their clasped hands and she pulled away from him, conflicting emotions filling her heart.

“I should go and see if Arya… Arry… is alright.” She said, excusing herself and hurrying away before she had to face the thoughts in her mind. It had been almost a year since she had last seen Jon. He would have taken his oath by now, rendering their vows obsolete. Until now part of her still hoped they would be united… but the way her skin was tingling where Gendry had touched it caused her to question everything she knew to be true. Was she being unfaithful to Jon if Jon was no longer her husband?

“Robb knows.” Dria said frantically as Jon shut the door behind them. He was far less worried than she was as she hastily paced back and forth in the small side chamber they had hurried into. “Robb knows about us!”

“I know, Dria. Calm down.” Jon said calmly. “He won’t tell father anything.”

“How can you be sure?” Dria was close to tears she was so worked up. “We’ve been so careful for three years. How does he know?”

“He saw us out by the stables.” Jon said, his hands on Dria’s arms to calm her. “Dria, I beseech you. He won’t betray me.”

Dria softened as she looked into his calm face. She shook her head. “I know. I’m sorry. We’ve just... we’ve been so careful.”

“I know.” Jon said. “Maybe it’s time?”

“Time for what? Time for you father to ban us from seeing each other? To send me away?”

“Why are you so worried my father will disapprove.”

“Because.” Dria let out a ragged breath. “You may not be able to inherit but you are still his son. He reserves the right to choose your wife. And I’m a maid.”

“You know Arya sees you as a sister.”

“It’s not Arya’s choice. I’m not her sister, am I? I’m not any connection to your family at all. Not really.”

“What if you were?” Jon made a decision in that moment as he looked into Dria’s oceanic eyes.

“What?”

“Marry me.” Jon said, his voice serious. Dria stared at him.

“Jon. No.” She shook her head. “You can’t do that. What if times change and you meet someone else...”

“Dria, do you love me?”

“You know I do. You are my Lord.”

“And you are my Lady and that’s never going to change. Marry me.”

“What about Robb?”

“He can be our ally. Our witness. He can convince Luwin to wed us and then nobody will be able to do anything about it. What do you say?”

Dria’s worry faded away and she smiled wider than she ever had. “Alright. I’ll marry you.” He kissed her with all the love he could muster.

As the days passed her questions went unanswered and the bond she had with the blacksmith only grew stronger. The men of the pilgrimage prepared to bunker down for the night in an old barn and Dria was to be given an elevated manger where Yoren could keep an eye out. In such close proximity he could take no chances. It was as Dria prepared her bed of straw that Gendry climbed the ladder to where she knelt.

“Yoren says I am to watch over you.” He said.

“Oh?” Dria asked.

“He cannot guarantee the men will leave you alone so I’m to lie here with a blade, he said.” Gendry was looking at her in a way that made her question whether he was joking or not. Nevertheless she allowed him to settle in beside her as night fell and one by one the men of the Watch began to snore in the barn. Arya was somewhere on the bottom level in disguise.

Dria laid down and temporarily closed her eyes, but she was terrified the thoughts of Jon that had been plaguing her waking moments would manifest into prophetic dreams. He had spoken to her before but she did not want to see anything that would take him from her. Gendry sat beside where she lay with his axe on his knee. She opened one eye to look up at him and found him looking back at her. She frowned but did not protest.

“‘Watch over me’ is not literal.” She whispered. He laughed through his nose and shuffled down so he could whisper back, his head now on level with hers.

“Where do you come from?” He asked in a whisper.

“What?”

“The other day you said you were a refugee. Where from?”

Dria frowned at him, unsure of why he had been thinking this or even why he remembered every detail. “Dauphin.” She replied. “It’s an Island in the Whispering Sea.”

“I’ve heard of it.” He whispered back.

“Really?” Dria asked incredulously.

“No.” He said just as quickly. “Sorry.”

Dria giggled silently, covering her mouth. He watched her laugh and seemed to be fighting his own internal thoughts.

“I’d never let anything happen to you, you know.” He said. Dria’s smile faded to a frown.

“What an odd thing to say.”

“I mean it.” Gendry whispered. “Do you believe in fate? I believe you and I were fated to meet. For whatever reason our journeys are entwined.”

“I think you’re sleep deprived.” Dria joked, but she reached out and tucked her fingers between his. He looked at her clasp on his hand and then back at her with a frown. She simply smiled and closed her eyes.

“I believe so too.” She whispered. Before long she had drifted off to sleep with their fingers still connected. He held up her limp hand in the light of the fading torches and looked at how easily their fingers slotted together.

“Dria!” Gendry hissed as Dria was woken with a start. He was sat up beside her, alert. As Dria came to she heard shouts from outside and the sound of horses. She sat bolt upright.

“What’s happening?!”

“It’s the gold cloaks.” Gendry said frantically, “They’ve returned.”

He looked out of the barn and then turned to her. Without another word he grabbed the hem of her skirt.

“What are you doing?!” She protested, but he put a hand over her mouth.

“Shh!” He hissed, “Trust me. You won’t want them finding you, a woman.” He gave her a certain look and she gulped. With his impressive strength he ripped a bolt of cloth from the hem of her skirt and handed it to her. “Bind your breasts. Cut off your dress at the waist, make it a shirt.” He jumped down from their elevated resting place to an empty barn. Already the bodies and the shouts were piling up outside. Dria watched in horror as he darted outside and returned with a pair of mens leather trousers. He threw them up to her as she finished binding her breasts and took the dagger from her belt to cut off her dress. Leaving the material up on the elevated platform she struggled into the trousers, tightened her belt around her skinny waist, and then climbed down to where he was waiting to catch her. He lifted her down by the waist and looked her up and down. “Hair.” He said. She nodded and tied it back in a plait with a strong piece of straw. He took her hand and they stooped as they exited the barn and fled to the dark bushes.

“Arya!” Dria hissed. “Where is she!”

“Dria!” Arya appeared with Yoren, who grabbed Dria’s arm.

“Keep out of sight. The lot of you. The three most wanted people I’ve ever met. Keep out of sight and then run along North. Do you hear me?” Yoren hissed. Arya began to argue but Yoren gestured for Gendry to remove her. Gendry easily picked her up and together they ran into the undergrowth and hid amongst the thicket. Dria closed her eyes, breathing heavily, as they listened to the murder going on around them. She felt Gendry’s rough fingers in hers and she opened her eyes to him giving her a reassuring nod.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” He promised, “Either of you.”

Arya slipped out of his grip and ran into the fight.

“Arry!” Dria screamed as Gendry ran after her. Dria snatched up a sword from a slain man and ran after them. She could see up ahead as Gendry caught up with Arya again, but before she could reach them a gold cloak stepped in her path and raised his sword. Without thinking Dria blocked his blow and before she knew it she was engaged in combat. This was a rush. All those lessons with Syrio that she had observed were paying off, she was winning…

Her sword was flung to the ground as the gold cloak slid his own down to her hilt. She gasped, unable to do anything, as she too was flung to the ground with the strength. The gold cloak laughed and pressed the tip of his blade to her stomach. She could feel it enter her skin, blood soaking into her shirt…

The soldier fell to the ground as a needle pierced his chest. He coughed up blood as Gendry dropped to his knees beside Dria. She clamped a hand over her wound and clutched his arm, nodding that she was okay.

“Is she going to die?!” Arya asked, horrified, as she pulled needle out of the gold cloak.

“No.” Gendry said, though he wasn’t so sure. Dria struggled to her feet with Gendry’s help, emphasising the superficialness of the cut, but she could feel her head spin as blood seeped from it. She was determined she wasn’t going to die. She couldn’t die, Arya needed her and Gendry had promised. Even when they were lined up to watch Yoren die and then the gold cloaks, along with Lannister soldiers, took them all captive. She could feel her blood clotting around the wound as they were chained together and forced to move out. On the bright side, at least in the dark nobody had noticed that she was a woman. 


	7. Episode 2: Shaken Loyalties (Pt. 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dria dreams something she never wanted to dream, and she begins to succumb to her wound.

They set eyes upon Harrenhal shortly after dawn. It was a city in ruins, charred black and with a distinct scent of decay hanging in the air. Their hands were bound before them and Dria was struggling to continue walking. She was tired. Everything ached. She could feel infection setting in to the wound that had gone untreated. Gendry gave her a nervous glance as he saw her stumble. Without alerting the soldiers that surrounded them he nudged her just enough with his elbow to keep her upright, his expression worried. She shook her head minutely to ask him not to mention it. He frowned at her and turned to Harrenhal.

“What kind of fire melts stone?” He asked, trying to distract his mind from worrying about Dria.

“Dragon fire.” Arya replied. She was oblivious to Dria’s wound or the burden she carried.

“There’s dragons here?” Hotpie chimed in.

“No. All the dragons are dead.”

“What’s that smell?” Hotpie sniffed with a disgusted expression.

“Dead people.” Arya said.

Dria stumbled again and Gendry caught her before she fell. He glanced worriedly at the soldiers but, again, none seemed to have noticed.

“Lean on me.” Gendry whispered.

“I’m fine.” Dria whispered back with a determined look at him. He frowned, his jaw clenched as he tried to argue but she shook him off. “If they see they’ll kill me right here.” She said breathlessly. “And then rape my corpse for being a woman.” Gendry didn’t look convinced but he nodded, understanding.

Being inside the ruined city was no better. They were moved through the gates like cattle and pushed them into a gate. They were untied at least but trapped and heavily guarded in the pen like animals. A thick hand in the small of Dria’s back sent her stumbling into the mud. Gendry caught her and helped her get her balance whilst Arya frowned at them. The gate was slammed behind them and Dria pushed herself off Gendry, wincing in pain but determined to cover it.

“Dria?” Arya asked in a worried whisper. There was no hiding it now. “Are you okay? Is it the wound? You said it was only slight.”

“I’m fine, Arya. It was only slight.” Dria whispered back. Arya frowned at her, not buying a word, and looked appealingly at Gendry. He was saved answering by the guard ripping open the gate and pulling someone out. Gendry gripped Dria’s arms to move her out of the way so that she wouldn’t get knocked by the flayling man. They watched in horror as the man was taken into an adjoining pen, chained down and tortured by a man in armour who asked him questions about some brotherhood. The screams didn’t last long before the man succumbed to the torture.

“Another one down.” The torturer said nonchalantly. “Until tomorrow.”

Dria realised she was still in Gendry’s arms and pushed away from him, trying not to swoon as sickness swept over her.

“He’s dead.” A woman said, standing beside them. They turned to face her as she stared numbly as they carried the body into the mud. “He was my son. My sister was three days ago. My husband the day before.”

“They take someone every day? Does anyone live?”

The woman gave them a knowing look of sorrow and turned away from them.

Dria fought the urge to cry as she reached out for Arya’s shoulder. Arya waited a moment before shrugging her off.

“Don’t worry.” Gendry whispered to Dria, slipping his fingers into her hand. “I won’t let anything happen to you. Either of you.”

Dria looked up at him, her eyes big. She wanted to believe him more than anything and he had spoken those words before. But she didn’t know how she could. Instead she squeezed his fingers in thanks and pulled her hand out of his grip.

By the time darkness gripped the citadel Dria was struggling to stay conscious. A little way away from her, curled up in the mud, lay Arya. She had her back to Dria and was muttering to herself, her pre-sleep mantra. Dria leant against the remnant of the stone pillar in the centre of the pen and ran a hand over her stomach. She winced in pain as she pressed on the hot, swollen part where the blade had entered her flesh. Beside her, Gendry inched closer so that he could speak to her without making very much noise at all.

“Tell me the truth.” He begged, putting a hand gently on her arm. “How bad is it?”

Dria met his eye in the light of the moon above. Rain fell around them as a tear rolled down her cheek. She shook her head minutely. Gendry’s face broke into an expression of fear and pity.

“What can I do to help?” He squeezed her arm.

“Nothing.” Dria shook her head, her words carried on her breath. “There is nothing to be done. The infection is already spreading. I can feel it.”

“Show me.” Gendry urged, leaning even closer to her. Dria glanced around them at the sleeping prisoners and the guards with their backs to them. Slowly, with her hand shaking, she lifted the hem of the shirt she was wearing. The otherwise smooth, pale skin of her stomach was almost black with bruising. Gendry helped her in holding up her shirt as she was too weak to maintain it, leaning in close so he could see in the dim light. The cloth she had used to bind her breasts were loosening, bogged down with the blood from her wound. He peeled it back as she gripped his shoulder in pain. The wound had long since stopped bleeding but now it was coated in an off colour skin. He grimaced but fought to keep his expression neutral as he gently pressed his fingers on the wound. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. The wound was hard and hot to the touch. He removed his touch and covered it up again, lowering her shirt again.

“Well?” She asked, her face close to his and her voice thick with pain.

“You’re alright.” He lied, his face faltering. He forced a small smile.

“You’re a bad liar, Gendry Waters.” Dria said, applying a little pressure to his shoulder in thanks.

“I’ll think of something.” He promised. “You’re not going to die. I’m not going to let you.”

“I don’t think you can decide that.”

“Positivity.” Gendry whispered, squeezing her hand. “It works wonders.”

“It’s hard to be positive in a situation like this.” Dria said. She clutched his fingers this time, not wanting to let go.

“You should sleep.” Gendry said. “I’ll watch out for you.”

Dria met his eye and took in the honesty in his expression. He genuinely cared for her and in that moment she knew it for sure. She nodded slowly and closed her eyes. Within a few moments she had nestled her head against his shoulder and he didn’t argue as he watched her drift off to sleep. As she began to breathe a little heavier he gently swept a strand of her rainsoaked hair out of her pale face.

“I won’t let anything happen to you.” He whispered, his fingers lingering a little longer on her cheek. She flinched in her sleep but didn’t wake as he settled in for the long night ahead.

“Get up, you dogs!”

Dria was woken by the sound of wood being banged hard with something heavy. She jerked awake, pulling her head off of Gendry’s shoulder, and winced in pain as it surged through her stomach. She frowned sheepishly at Gendry, silently asking if she had been asleep on his shoulder all night, and pulled her hand out of his loose grip. He offered her a small smile which she returned before turning to Arya.

“On your feet!” Polliver ordered. There was a general shifting movement in the pen as they all did as they were told. Gendry helped Dria up as her legs threatened to buckle. She felt far worse today than ever. She wondered silently how long she had before the infection took over entirely. She watched in horror as the Mountain came into view. He was identified as the one who picks and Arya and Dria exchanged terrified looks. Hotpie was staring up at the Mountain with a determined look on his face.

“What are you doing?” Arya asked him in a hushed whisper.

“He,” Hotpie gestured at a boy off to the left, “Told me he stares at him every day. That’s why he doesn’t get picked.”

“That seems shaky logic to me.” Gendry said, standing close behind Dria so he could catch her if she buckled.

They watched in horror as the Mountain selected the very boy who had fed Hotpie his logic. The boy was dragged screaming from the pen and strapped into the torture chair. They watched as he too was questioned and then tortured to death. His screams rang around the walls of Harrenhal, the shrieking of the rat in the bucket ringing in their ears. A hot tear rolled down Dria’s cheek as she feared for them. She could see no way out of here for Arya, the one person she was charged with protecting, especially not if anything happened to her.

The day passed in fear as Dria tried not to succumb to the infection spreading through her blood. They were permitted food in the afternoon, hard, mouldy bread and ale as, according to Polliver, they were no fun to torture if they died of starvation. Dria’s knees buckled again before she could accept her share. Gendry helped her sit down on the muddy ground with her back to the stone pillar. For the first time Arya noticed the frail state in which her companion found herself. She knelt beside her with a concerned expression on her face.

“Dria? What is wrong?”

“Nothing, Arya.” Dria said.

“Don’t lie to me. I’ve lost so much. I can’t…” Arya suddenly looked like she was about to cry. She looked pleadingly at Gendry. Dria took her hand.

“Arya. It’s just a flesh wound. I’m fine.” Dria reassured her. Hotpie knelt in front of her with a mug of ale and a handful of bread.

“Sorry to interrupt.” He said. “We should probably eat.”

“Here, Dria.” Gendry took the ale and handed it to her. “Stay hydrated.” He looked at her appealingly. She fought the urge to argue with him and swallowed her pride, accepting the ale and drinking most of it. He kept a close eye on her as night gathered around them once more. Arya didn’t seem convinced but nonetheless she fell asleep pretty quickly after speaking her mantra.

“It’s commendable.” Gendry whispered. “How much you care about Arya.”

“She’s the only thing I have from my old life.” Dria replied, her hand pressed against her wound to prevent the pain.

“What was it like? Working for the Starks.”

“Don’t believe anything you’ve heard. Lord Stark was not a traitor. He was a good man.”

“And you were what, his servant?”

“No. I could have left if I chose. I had nowhere to go. My home was…”

“Destroyed. I remember. You were a refugee.” Gendry nodded.

Dria looked at him closely. He was looking at her in pity and concern and… she couldn’t identify the third expression mixed on his face. She did notice the marks on his skin, the scars from years of standing above a fire. His eyes were soft and kind. If this were another lifetime she could see herself having feelings for him. She suddenly felt guilty.

“I’m going to get some sleep.” She whispered, looking away from him.

“Goodnight Dria.” Gendry whispered. “I hope tomorrow brings some hope.”

“There is no hope.” Dria said as tears stung her eyes. The guilt stung her skin. She closed her eyes to rid herself of it. Gendry positioned himself where Dria could use him to sleep against again, but she fell asleep with her head against the pillar. He watched as she slept fitfully, her eyes darting beneath her eyelids as though she were dreaming heavily.

The snow fell thick as Dria walked through it. Never in her life had she seen it this dense. She was walking through a castle she didn’t recognise. The walls were black stone and makeshift wooden structures. Faceless men in thick black cloaks moved around her as she headed for her destination. She didn’t know why she had to be there, but something was compelling her to this specific spot. She looked down at her long black skirt in the snow. It was the red of the blood that caught her eye. Somewhere above her a crow cawed as she followed the trail. Her heart hammered, and then it all but stopped entirely as she saw something she never wanted to see. It was Jon, but he was lying on his back in the snow. His eyes were open and staring and glazed, his skin cold. Dria wanted to cry out to him, to touch him, but she suddenly couldn’t move. The crow caw got louder, mingled with the sound of a baby crying.

Dria woke with a jolt and felt her lungs burn with the taste of blood. She was panting as she tried to get her bearings.

“Hey!” Gendry hissed next to her. It was still dark and he was wide awake. “What’s the matter?”

“My husband.” Dria breathed. “He’s dead. Or dying.”

“What do you mean? It was just a dream, Dria.” Gendry held her hands reassuringly but she was panicking.

“No.” Tears stung her eyes as she struggled to keep her voice down. “Where I’m from Gendry. Dauphin. We have prophetic dreams. It’s a trait passed down for generations and… I’ve never had one that hasn’t come true.”

“How do you know prophetic from regular dreams?”

“I don’t have regular dreams.”

“Hey, hey.” He put a hand on her cheek briefly to focus her. “It’s alright.”

“I dreamt about Lord Stark, I knew he was gonna lose his head to Ice. I dreamt about King Robert and the boar that killed him. I dreamt…” Her eyes widened as she looked at Gendry, suddenly flushed.

“What?”

“About you.” She blinked at him. “I didn’t know it at the time. I dreamt about a man with a bulls head. That was you.”

Gendry frowned, unsure what to think about her words. She began to sob silently, her hand over her mouth.

“Jon’s dead.” She sobbed, collapsing forward so her head was resting on his chest. He held her as she cried silently, not knowing what to say.

“I’m so sorry Dria.” He settled on. She composed herself to look at him, wincing in pain as she sat up. He helped her lean against the pillar again.

“I’ll be meeting him soon.” She pressed on her wound again.

“Don’t say that.” Gendry shook his head.

“We both know it’s true.”

“Have you dreamt about that?”

Her eyes darted between his for a moment. “No.”

“Then it’s not going to happen.” He gently brushed the hair out of her face. “I’m sorry about your husband.”

“Don’t tell Arya.” Dria glanced at Arya’s sleeping form not far from them. “She’s only just got used to her father being dead. She can’t lose her brother too.” She dissolved into silent tears again and he held her as she cried.


	8. Episode 2: Shaken Loyalties (Pt. 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Tywin arrives and Dria is permitted time to recover. Gendry realises something about her that could make things complicated .

As always they stood and waited to be chosen for torture. Dria was finding it impossible to stand. The infection was eating away at her and now the feeling that Jon was dead she could see no reason to go on. It was even harder to hide her condition from Arya as the world span and her vision kept dipping in and out.

“I wish you would tell me what’s going on.” Arya whispered as they watched the Mountain walk towards them. She had noticed the tear tracks in Dria’s dirtied face.

“Not now.” Dria breathed, shaking her head and regretting it as she grabbed the fence-post for support. Gendry hurried to keep her upright but she shrugged him off.

“Are you dying?” Arya gasped. “It’s your wound isn’t it? From where he stabbed you. It’s not nothing, you lied to me.” Arya was getting herself worked up, drawing attention to herself.

“Arya. Stop.” Dria begged as the Mountain reached them. He took one look at the conflict and at Dria’s pale face and pointed a gloved hand at her.

“You.” The Mountain grunted. She felt her heart sink.

“No!” Arya screamed but Gendry had stepped in front of Dria.

“Take me.” He said before Dria could stop him. The Mountain shrugged and began to drag him out of the pen. Dria clutched his arm desperately.

“Why!” She sobbed as he was pulled away. “I’m half dead anyway!” She dissolved into sobs as the gate was shut again. She pushed past the other prisoners, Arya on her heels, as Gendry was dragged around the outside and into the torturers pen. She clutched the wooden beam, praying she could stay conscious, as Gendry was strapped down. He looked at her with an intense expression, his face speaking a thousand words. A look passed between them and she understood: he couldn’t stand by and watch her die, he had to go first if they were going. In that moment she knew the nature of his feelings for her. She sniffled her tears away and clutched the beam so that her knuckles went white as the torturer took his place. There was nothing she could do to stop it. Gendry turned to face the torturer as he was determined to keep face. Arya’s hand squeezed into Dria’s. She was shaking. Dria looked down at her and offered her a small smile but they both knew there was nothing to smile about. Not anymore. They watched as the torturer began to ask Gendry questions and he denied them, argued. They watched as one of the guards placed a rat in a bucket and strapped it to Gendry’s chest. They watched as he turned back to get the fire…

Then the sound of horses could be heard throughout the courtyard. They turned to look as a tall man in red robes and armour, riding a white horse, stopped just short of where the prisoners were being held, dismounted and strode into the torture pen. The torturer bowed his head as the man walked past. Dria knew without needing to be told who this man was. He oozed authority and command. They watched as all of the soldiers bowed their heads and Dria gestured for her and Arya to do the same. She caught Gendry’s eye and he gave her a terrified frown. She offered him a tiny shake in response as the man stopped in front of him.

“We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow, Lord Tywin.” Polliver said, confirming Dria’s suspicions. She had been right to bow her head.

“Evidently not.” Tywin remarked. “Why are these prisoners not in cells.”

“Cells are overflowing, my Lord.” The Mountain explained.

“This lot won’t be here long. Don’t need no permanent place. After we interrogate ‘em we usually just...” Polliver interjected. Tywin gave him an exhausted look as he interrupted.

“Are we so well-manned that we can afford to discard abled young bodies and skilled labourers?” Dria and Arya watched in horror as Tywin turned to Gendry. “You. Do you have a trade?”

“Smith, my lord.” Gendry replied with a glance at Dria. She could see his mind working quickly. He knew Dria and Arya didn’t have a trade Lord Tywin would be interested in, and he needed to keep them safe if he could.

“Smith. Exactly.” Tywin said. “Release him. Give him quarters. We cannot expect men to be loyal to our cause if we lock them up and treat them like dogs.” He sounded fed-up of his mens incompetence.

Gendry was unstrapped and gave Dria a reassuring smile just as Polliver asked, “What about the women? Surely they’re a liability?” Dria looked horrified at Polliver’s comment as Gendry’s expression turned to one of fear. It did not go unnoticed by Tywin. He looked between them and then directly at Dria, looking her up and down and taking in her bowed head. “You know each other?” He asked Gendry.

“She’s my wife.” Gendry said as Tywin turned to him. He had enough time to give Dria a look, telling her to play along, before Tywin turned back to her.

“Your wife?” Tywin sounded impressed as he looked at Gendry.

“Yes, my lord.” He was speaking to Tywin with an unblinking expression.

Tywin turned to Dria. “Do you have a trade too?”

“I was a maidservant.” Dria said, forcing her accent to sound less North. It seemed to comply, at least for now. “Until…” She glanced at Gendry and then back to Tywin, “We married. “I can cook, clean, sew.” She was almost begging as she willed her voice to remain strong.

“Far from a liability.” Tywin said as he took Dria in her entirety and then sent a shot at Polliver. “Release them all, you idiots. Put them to work. Give the Smith quarters where he can live with his wife.”

“My lord.” He and the men scurried about as they unlocked the gates. “On your knees, or I’ll carve your guts out.”

“You’ll do no such thing.” Tywin had begun to walk away. “This one’s a girl.” Dria glanced in horror at Arya, who’s eyed widened. “How did you get caught up with the Nights Watch?” He asked, amused.

“We didn’t, my lord. We were just travelling through.” Dria chimed in. “She’s my sister. We were in the wrong place at the wrong time, my lord.”

Tywin raised an eyebrow. “Send her to my chambers, I need a new cupbearer.” He left the vicinity. One of the men approached Gendry.

“There’s a room just down that way. It’s not very big.” He said, irritated. Gendry thanked him but was distracted as Dria and Arya were roughly dragged out of the pen by guards. As they let them go Dria stumbled and Gendry hurried forwards to catch her. He held her fast in his arms as she looked into his eye, the panic flooding her veins and causing her to grow more faint.

“Good thinking, Gendry.” Arya said somewhere at Dria’s side.

“Are you gonna be okay with him?” Gendry asked Arya. She shrugged. “I can handle it. Is Dria going to be alright?” She looked in fear at Dria.

“I’m going to get her what she needs.” Gendry offered Arya a smile. Arya, not content but knowing she needed to go, gave Gendry a stern look.

“See that you do. She’s very important to me.”

“Yes, my lady.” Gendry said.

“Don’t call me that. Just save her.” Arya warned as she hurried off. Gendry looked in worry at Dria’s increasingly limp form.

“Come on.” He whispered. “I’ll get you treated.” He scooped her legs up so that he was carrying her and headed in the direction of the room. Dria passed out entirely as he rounded the corner, he felt her go heavy. The pulse in her extended neck told him she was still alive as he kicked open the door of the indicated room.

It was small and simple, as promised, but there was enough of a bed to lay Dria gently down properly. The room was cold and she was shivering. Thankfully, whoever had been here before had left a small pile of wood in the makeshift firepit. He lit them to warm the room and laid the moth-eaten sorry-excuse for a blanket over her whilst he thought what to do. He breathed out, realising how lucky he had been, and then refocused as Dria stirred. He needed to find water and alcohol to clean away the infection. The room had little to offer by way of healing material and he needed to waste no more time. He knelt beside her and gently swept her hair from her ear, whispering, “I’ll be back.” before heading out of the room to gather what he needed.

Half an hour later he had returned and begun to boil the water above the firepit. He had talked his way into a drink from one of the guards and used it to soak a length of material. He had listened as they complimented him on his wife’s beauty and tried not to think about things he shouldn’t. All that mattered now was saving her life, anything else could wait. He knelt on the cold stone floor beside her on the cot and pulled down the blanket. Hesitating, checking she was still breathing again, he apologised quietly before rolling up her blouse. He hestiated again as he looked at the bloodsoaked material around her breasts. She had no need for them now, everyone knew she was a woman, so he gently and carefully began to unravel them. It occured to him that he had not seen her naked, nor had he wanted to, but as he unwound the last one he couldn’t help but pause before lightly folding her blouse to cover her dignity. He had seen breasts before, but hers were as he had hoped. Shaking his head to clear it of unholy thoughts he began to gently clean her wound. He was glad to possess a strong stomach as he did so. It was as he applied the alcohol that she gasped and woke from her blackout. In her sudden awakening she gripped his shoulder and he paused in his cleaning to offer her a reassuring smile.

“What are you doing?” She asked weakly.

“Cleaning your wound.” He explained. “Trust me. Just relax.”

She put her head back on the bed and nodded as he continued, wincing in pain but using her grip on his shoulder as a vice. “I do trust you.” She whispered, her eyes squeezed shut. He smiled thankfully at her before going back to concentrating. There was a pause as she tried not to cry out in pain. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

“I’ve treated burns before. I don’t know if this is much different.” He spoke through a clenched jaw.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“For what you did out there. You didn’t have to.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Dria, we’re in this together now.” Gendry’s eyes twinkled as he smiled at her. She smiled back before wincing again.

“That is if I live that long.”

“The infection hasn’t spread too far.” Gendry said, inspecting the area around the wound with light fingertips. “Not as far as we thought. If we keep it clean and I can bring you fresh water you should be on your feet soon enough.”

“Should be? Lord Tywin won’t keep me around if I’m not.”

“He will have no choice.” Gendry said firmly.

“You’re going to take on Tywin Lannister?” Dria whispered, her thumb stroking the skin beneath Gendry’s shoulder strap. He tried not to dwell on her touch.

“For you I’d take on the whole Targaryen clan.” He said seriously, his eyes meeting hers. They held eye contact for a long while before he looked away. “Get some sleep.” He ordered. “I’ll be just outside. There’s a smith forge.” He tapped her gently on the cheek with his thumb. “No dreams though.”

“I’ll try.” Dria said with a small smile. Her eyelids were heavy. She drank the water he offered her and then laid back on the bed, her blouse up around her breasts to let her stomach breathe. Gendry watched her for a moment before gathering the bloodied bandages and leaving. He needed to get these feelings under control until he knew how she felt. The priority now was surviving, and doing it together.


	9. Episode 2: Shaken Loyalties (Pt. 4)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dria begins to work for Lord Tywin. When she is abused (non-con) she finds comfort in the one man who has been there for her, Gendry (con smut).

Although Adria’s fevered dreams were memories rather than prophetic, they were nonetheless unwelcome. Jon appeared in every single one and in each he told her the same thing: to join him. It was a conversation they had held when they had first started sleeping together, when they had dreamt about running away, but the choice of words in the dreams were always the same, “Join me, Dria. Come with me.” After several days the dreams were taking their toll on Dria.

“Dria, hey.” Gendry woke her gently by putting a hand under her head. Days had passed and the infection was clearing thanks to Gendry’s care and attentiveness, but Dria felt just as drained. She blinked her eyes open and Jon’s face in her vision was replaced by Gendry’s. He was smiling at her as he held a wad of bread in his hand. “I won a bet with one of the guards.”

“You shouldn’t be gambling.” Dria said weakly as Gendry broke the bread up for her, helping her sit up so she could eat it. Her hands shook as she took it from him. “Nothing with risk.”

“I know, but you need to eat decent food.”

“How’s Arya?” Dria asked as she took a grateful bite.

“Strong.” Gendry shrugged.

“Is she coping? With Lord Tywin?”

“Seems to be. You know Arya. Gives as good as she gets. Here.” He handed her a flask of water. Dria drank thirstily, trying to ignore Jon’s voice in her head again.

“As long as she doens’t tell him who she really is.”

“Why does he want her, anyway?” Gendry asked. “As a Stark I mean.”

“Her brother. He’s in open war with Tywin Lannister.”

“The Gods had fun when they created this little scenario, huh?” Gendry chuckled a little, but his smile faded.

“What is it?”

“He’s asking for you.” He said quietly. Dria stared at him.

“Tywin?”

“He wants to know how long it will be until you are able to … attend him.”

“What?”

“He doesn’t want you with the men. I get it.” Gendry shrugged slightly, his eyes darting between hers. She was breathing heavily in fear, wincing as her panting pulled at her stitches.

“He asked you?”

“I told him you were recovering from a wound.” Gendry said. “He wanted to know how long it would take. Can I look?” Gendry asked, gesturing to her stomach. Dria nodded and pulled up her shirt so he could take a look at her wound. He peeled back the bandage and inspected it.

“Well?”

“It’s almot healed.” Gendry said quietly, heavily. Dria nodded.

“So you can Lord Tywin I’ll be _attending_ him within forty-eight hours.”

Gendry gently replaced her shirt and took a deep breath. “What does he even want you to do?”

“What does any unmarried Lord with bags of gold want with a young woman?” Dria lost her appetite as she put down the bread. Gendry frowned at her.

“You don’t know that’s what he wants. Besides. As far as he’s concerned, you’re married.”

“I am married.” Dria reminded him. Her thoughts filled again with Jon’s voice as Gendry reacted a little like he had been slapped. Dria looked quickly at him, realising.

“Of course.” Gendry got to his feet and Dria knew she had hurt his feelings. She opened her mouth to apologise but he shook his head. “I’ll come see you later.” He said, offering her a smile. “Get some rest whilst you can.” And he left before she could apologise. Dria laid back on the pillows but felt the furthest from wanting to sleep. At least if she was in Tywin’s quarters she could keep an eye on Arya. A word in the right ear might even get her the truth about Jon, whether he was alive or not.

Days later and Dria was presenting herself to Lord Tywin in his chambers. He dismissed his small council as she entered and sent Arya to the cellar to fetch his supper. He looked Dria up and down, taking in the blood-stained shirt and oversized belted trousers she was wearing.

“These are hardly the clothes for a maidservant.” Tywin tutted his tongue.

“I apologise, milord.” Dria said quietly, avoiding his eye-contact. Just standing upright was taking a lot of her strength, “It’s all I had.”

“I’ll see that we find you something more appropriate.” Tywin said in a tone that could have been mistaken for kindness. Dria knew better. “Tomorrow you will present yourself properly.”

“Yes milord.” Dria sighed as her heart panged for the Stark family she had once served. “What exactly will I be doing for you?”

“The girl, your sister, does a decent job of fetching my wine and filling my table. But she is scarce trained in anything else.” He began to circle Dria like a lion stalking it’s prey, slowly, taking in everything about her from the mens clothes she wore loose about her thin body to the freckles on her nose. “You will do my laundry, strip my linen, warm my bed,” Dria gasped but he chuckled. She felt the breath of his chuckle on her neck, “With the coals.” He finished, amusing himself, “And help me bathe. You will see to my every need. In return I will care for your little family for as long as I am in Harrenhal. Does that sound like a deal to you?” Dria paused, knowing there was so much more loaded into each of his words, but she nodded slowly. “Yes, my lord.”

“Good. You can start with stripping my bed.” Tywin gestured off to the side of the room where his bed lay. “Ensure it’s fresh for tonight.” He settled himself in his high-backed chair as he watched Dria scuttle to the bed and begin to strip it, taking care not to rip her newly healed wound. She was aware of him watching her. She had never felt more uncomfortable. Everything about this man felt dangerous. He offered the best but she knew to expect the worst.

During the days that followed he did not confirm her suspicions any more than glancing at her for a little long. She was given a new outfit to wear, the dress of a commoner who had lost her life to Polliver and his rats. The dress had been repaired but not even the best launderer could get out the blood. Dria hated wearing it. It was bloodstained, brown and thick, but too short to wear trousers underneath and the neckline was low. The previous owner had been larger than Dria and so the bodice did not quite tighten over her breasts, leaving it loose. Dria spent her day pulling it up so the soliders couldn’t leer at her. Tywin seemed to enjoy the view, especially when she bent over to change his bed.

On the third day Tywin dismissed Arya to the kitchens and as the last of his men filtered from the room, he watched as Dria pulled the warming pan from the bed and crossed to the fire to fill it with coals. He was standing by the fireplace, leaning against the mantle, the dying fire glowing on his face and casting shadows over his features. Dria had to pass him to return to the bed but he caught her arm on the way past. The coals fell to the floor as he pushed her against the table, the edge of it pressing into her hips as he pressed himself against her back. She gasped, breathing heavily in fear as his hand ran up the side of her skirt. She knew this was coming. She had expected it since he had first looked at her. His hand pulled her skirts up around her waist and he held her tightly against him as his hand slid down her front. She closed her eyes as he made contact, tears in her eyes.

“I want to know what you feel like.” He whispered in her ear. She resisted the urge to sob as he slid inside her, holding her in place as he touched her. Then, as soon as he had his fill he released her and stepped away from her as though nothing had happened. She stumbled away from him, bruising on her hips where the table had pushed into her. “Pick that up you clumsy girl.” He ordered. Dria, shaking all over, stooped to collect the coals. She didn’t care if they burnt her, she just wanted to leave. He watched as she put the warming pan between his sheets and stepped away from the bed before he could pull her into it. “Until tomorrow.” Tywin said smoothly. Dria, taking that as dismissal, staggered from the room and crashed into the wall outside, gasping for air as she covered her mouth with her shaking hand. She felt unclean, violated.

She could feel the cold breeze on her face and she looked down at the courtyard below. Without Jon, life was miserable, and now Tywin had chosen her for his own private plaything. She stepped further onto the edge of the ruins, thinking about how easy it would be to just step off, shut everything out, join Jon for good. She closed her eyes, ready to freefall, her mind letting go...

Arya.

At least with her around he would touch her and not Arya.

Arya would be so broken if Dria died. She had survived infection. She couldn’t just take her own life so insensitively.

Dria stepped back from the edge, gasping for air again, panicking. She couldn’t do that to Arya.

She hurried through the halls and ruins until she burst into the door of their little room in the smith corner. She was shaking and as soon as the door closed she dissolved into tears.

“Dria?!” Gendry hurried over and knelt in front of her as she sank to the ground. “What is it?! What’s happened?”

It took a few moments for her sobbing to subside enough to speak. “He touched me.”

“What?!” Dria had never seen him so angry. “I’ll kill him.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Dria put her hands on his upper arms thankfully. Gendry looked at her. He had never seen her look so broken.

“Here.” He said, helping her gently to her feet and helping her to sit on the edge of the bed. “What do you need?”

“I want to bathe.” Dria whispered in a hollow voice.

“I can fetch you water.” Gendry said gently. “Boil it.”

“Thank you.” Dria nodded slowly. Gendry smiled kindly at her and hurried away. Dria began ripping the dress from her body and throwing it on the floor, leaving herself in her blouse. Gendry returned moments later and frowned at her, sitting on the bed as she was with her legs and arms crossed. He placed the pot above the fire and looked at her in concern. He didn’t know what to say. For a long time they sat in silence as the water began to warm. Then Dria spoke quietly. “Where’s Arya?”

“Practicing with Hotpie.” Gendry said. “She’ll be back soon.”

Dria nodded. “Thank you.”

“Do you want me to leave? Whilst you bathe?”

There was a long pause and then Dria nodded slowly. “Thank you.” She repeated, her voice a broken monotone.

“I’ll just be outside.” Gendry said. He gave her one last look of concern before going to leave. “I hate seeing you like this.” He said, turning back in the doorway. “So broken. You’re so strong. I know you are. I wish you would remember that.” He left, his words ringing in the air.

Dria wrapped her arms around herself and held herself tightly, terrified she was about to break apart. She thought about how it had felt being on top of the ruin ready to step off. She thought about Jon and how he was the only man she had ever been with. She thought about Tywin and how his hands had felt on her. She thought about the cut on her stomach and the infection that had fought to take control of her body. She thought about Gendry and how deep her feelings for him were growing. She thought about how she had once had control of her own body and who was permitted to touch it. She made a decision. Until they could leave Harrenhall, until they found a way, if Tywin Lannister was going to use her in this way she was going to do it on her terms. She wouldn’t let him control her, or any man. Her husband was dead. Her body was her own and it was going to stay that way for as much as she could make it.

Dria got to her feet and pulled off the shirt, standing completely naked in the middle of the room. She crossed to the water above the fire. Gendry had left a rag on the edge of the bowl. Dria looked down at her bruised and battered body for the first time since she had still lived in the walls of King Landing. So much had changed, and her body reflected it. Every cut told a story, every ache a saga. She ran her trembling fingers over the cut on her stomach, the one Gendry had so attentively been caring for. She closed her eyes briefly as she thought about his coarse fingers on her delicate Northern skin. She ran her hand over her soft breasts and thought about how it might be to feel his rough hands on her. Shaking her head, she moved her hand away from her skin to plait her thick, matted black hair with shaking fingers and reach into the basin for the cloth. She looked down at her reflection in the rippling water. She had never seen such a forlorn creature. She moved away from the reflection and shook her head. She ran the lukewarm cloth between her legs, washing away Tywin’s touch, shutting her eyes and savouring the feeling of being clean. She ran the cloth over her shoulders, although raising her arms was proving to be painful and she had to stop briefly to catch her breath. She didn’t realise she had been this bad. She immediately felt dizzy and made to clutch the edge of the basin, waiting for the dizziness to pass. The excitement of the day was catching up with her, the emotional rollercoaster. She was suddenly aware that the door was open. She looked over hurriedly to see Gendry just closing it behind him, his jaw set as he looked at her.

“Sorry.” He whispered, “I forgot my…” The room wasn’t large and he wasn’t far away from her. The speed at which she had looked at him and the warm water had caused dizziness. Gendry hurried over to catch her as she swayed. She pushed through it, blushing red as she tried to cover herself. He waited patiently as she covered her breasts and attempted to cover elsewhere, but she lurched as the room span. He caught her expertly under her arm in his muscled own as effortlessly as if she were parchment. His jaw was set as he gently took the cloth from the hand on her breasts. “Let me.” He said softly, dipping the cloth in the water as he held her firmly in place.

“No.” She said weakly, but he ignored her as he gently ran the cloth over her chest above her arm. His face was emotionless as he worked, his eyes intently concentrating on every crust of blood and dirt on her fair skin. She watched his face as he worked, moving the cloth to clean her arm. All the while he held her in place by the ribcage, keeping her standing.

“You shouldn’t see me like this.” Dria whispered eventually.

“How would you like me to see you?” Gendry replied in a matching tone. He redipped the cloth and began to gently wipe her stomach, leaving her arm across her breasts for now and concentrating on the area around her healing wound. He paused to inspect it before moving on to her hips. His hand slipped down to hold her by the waist as his face remained emotionless. She closed her eyes as he swept the damp rag down her thighs, wondering for a moment if her trembling was in reaction to his touch. This touch was different. It was welcome. She wanted him to touch her. He ran the rag back up her legs respectfully avoiding the area between them. He was almost on his knees as he did, his face level with her hips. His hand stopped at the top of her thigh and hesitated. She wanted him to touch her, was throbbing for it almost.

“Stronger.” Dria replied, bluntly. Gendry paused where he was, then got to his feet and looked into her eyes, frowning.

“You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever known.” He said softly as though it were obvious. He was standing close to her, his arm cocked as he held onto her waist. She looked into his eyes and felt her knees buckle. She reached out and grabbed his tabard. He wrapped his other arm around her to hold her firm. She was entirely dependent on him now, but that was okay. She wanted to be. He was looking down at her with his eyes darting between hers. He was still holding the rag but his fingers entwined around the base of her plait thoughtfully. Her breath was shallow as he held her. “Do you really not know how I see you?” He asked, his breath blowing strands of hair out of her face. He gently swept his fingers across her cheek to move them. She blinked at him, unsure of how to answer. She knew how she wished he saw her but she didn’t want to assume. “I’m in love with you Adria.” He spoke as though it were the most obvious statement in the world. “I have been since I first saw you. But you were married and I’d never have…” His words were interrupted by Dria inclining her head and kissing him lightly on the lips. He blinked at her as she pulled back again,

“I’m not married anymore.” She whispered.

“You’re widowed.” Gendry reminded her softly. “I can’t.”

Dria blinked at him for a moment, then said something she had never thought she would. “Yes you can. I want you to.”

Gendry looked at her for a moment as he tried to decide what to do. “You’ve been through a lot. Today especially.”

“That’s just it. What’s going to happen is inevitable. But I don’t want him to be the next man I…” She tailed off. Her turquoise eyes were big and appealing, her legs were the strongest they had been for a while. She was naked beneath his arms. He could feel her soft skin against him.

“You…” He breathed.

“You know.” Dria whispered. She clutched his tabard closer, pressing her body against his. Making a decision, he put his hand on her cheek, his fingers so long and strong that he entwined them in her thick hair as he did. He kissed her gently, wanting to confirm that she was okay with it. When she didn’t argue or pull away he kissed her deeper. This kiss was nothing like any of the whores in Bailish’s establishment had ever given him. Her kiss was warm, tentative, inviting. He had wanted to do this since he had first met her. His hand swept over the skin of her lower back as she clutched the neckline of his tunic, holding firm. His kiss was different to Jon’s. He was rougher, but she could feel his honesty in every muscle. She was still shaking and he pulled away for a moment.

“Is this okay?” He asked. “If you…”

“I want you.” Dria replied, kissing him again. Something about it just felt right, but her legs buckled again. He caught her, pulling out of the embrace as he swept her up as effortlessly as he had the first time she had collapsed. He laid her gently on the rickety bed and laid down on top of her, propped up on his elbow. She wrapped a shaking arm around his neck as he ran a hand over her waist. The rag was still held in his fingers as she met his eye, sliding her arm from her breasts so that he could look at her. It was cold in the room and she had been naked for a while now. Her nipples were hard and long as he looked at her. He had seen her breasts before but he had always tried not to look. Now she wanted him to look, to appreciate what she looked like underneath. He met her eye and an unspoken agreement passed between them. Whilst his eyes burned into hers he gently ran the rag over her hard nipples. She closed her eyes for a moment, her eyelids flickering with ecstasy at the feeling of being touched. They snapped open as she felt him lightly kiss her breast. He was looking at her for approval. When she didn’t stop him he closed his eyes and kissed her breast again, moving down towards her nipple. As he ran his tongue over it she closed her eyes again and her spine arched slightly. It hurt, but she didn’t care. He had permission now to do as he pleased with her, and he knew it. She needed him to show her how she could be treated. He ran his hand down over her waist to her thigh. It was bruised but she wanted him to touch her. She ran her fingers through his hair as he released her raw nipple and ran his delicate tongue down her body, slowly, deliciously. She opened her eyes and watched as he positioned himself above her cunt, his dangerous tongue stopping at her hip-bone. Another silent agreement, and he kissed the flesh above it. He softly ran the cold rag over her hips and over her cunt, awakening it from its long-felt dormicity. It fell to the floor as he gripped the insides of her thighs and gently pulled them apart with his strong hands. She obliged, displaying herself to him. He didn’t care. His tongue slipped between them effortlessly and she gasped, her muscles tensing as she savoured the feeling. He was good with his tongue. She was throbbing from his touch already and he lapped it up, sucking and licking until she moaned. Just as she was on the brink he pulled out. She opened her eyes as he looked at her.

“Can you take it?” He asked. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I can take it.” She said. She was unsure in truth, but she wasn’t about to say no. He smiled and unbuckled his trousers, pulling his cock out slowly. She gasped softly as she saw it, full and beating. “You won’t hurt me.” She said firmly, though she wasn’t so sure. It had been a long time since... She clenched her fist as he positioned himself to fill her up. He noticed her hesitate and slid his fingers into hers on both hands, holding them firmly as he slid gently inside her. She was wet and waiting and the feeling of his size made her grunt. She had never felt anything like it. Her stomach erupted in butterflies as he began to move slowly in and out of her, using his impressive strength so as not to put too much pressure on her fragile form. She clutched his hands and made eye contact with him as he gradually quickened the pace. He kissed her lips as he moved quicker and she found her hips moving naturally in time with him. She pulled out of his hands and wrapped her hands around his head and shoulders, gasping with each impact. Dria ran her hands over his chest and felt his muscles beneath the leather. He paused in his movement to unlace his shirt and she ran her hands over his skin, feeling his warmth. He pressed into her again, the pressure causing her to shake a little as she gasped and clutched him. He gripped her thighs as she dug her nails into his chest, kissing her lips as he slid his fingers between her legs too. She crumbled, putty in his hands, and he bit her nipple again, pulling it so that she came again in another wave against rocks. He could feel himself close now, he had wanted her for so long. She kissed him shakily on the lips and he came inside her, shuddering as he did, growling in her ear. He was careful not to collapse on top of her but the feeling was so powerful it was a struggle. He pulled out of her and gently lay beside her, his hand in her hair and on her stomach, his finger on her nipple. She stroked his hair and smiled as she ran a hand over her sore body.

“Will you be my woman?” He asked softly. “I’ll protect you, keep you safe and make sure you never feel unloved.”

“I will.” Dria whispered back, kissing him softly on the lips but wondering how he could ever keep her truly safe in such an unsafe environment. She bit her own lip thoughtfully. “We shouldn’t tell Arya. Not yet.”

“You don’t want her to think you unfaithful.”

“Thank you for understanding.”

“Anything you want, my lady.” Gendry smiled and kissed her again.

Outside, oblivious to what was going on in the small room, Arya had made a deal with a man named Jaqen H’ghar. Before long they would be out of Harrenhal and headed North, back on track. Arya couldn’t wait for Dria to be reunited with Jon now that she knew the truth about their relationship. She was sure they’d find something for Gendry too, a nice Northern woman who would give him the love he deserved. Arya couldn’t help but feel pleased with herself. For once she was the one doing the rescuing.


	10. Episode 2: Shaken Loyalties (Pt. 5)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya hatches a plan to get them out of Harrenhal. Dria sees a vision of her future.

When Lord Tywin made his advances the following day Dria was ready. She controlled them, told him what he could do. She would not be caught off guard by him or any man ever again. In return Tywin told her information about his army’s movements. He gave her marital advice on keeping her beloved close lest they be taken from her. Her heart wrenched at his words. She came to respect the man she still called captive, even when she was asked into his bed. She would always return to her own, the one she shared with Arya whilst Gendry slept on the floor. More often than not she would fall asleep with her fingers entwined in his, feeling him close. Gendry listened as she told him everything Tywin had said in hushed whispers once Arya had fallen asleep. The days passed and Dria grew ever stronger, confident in her own skin and growing in health now the infection was gone. She worked hard in the ruins for Tywin during the day, keeping thoughts from her mind with every stitch sewn and every cloth laundered. Hard labour was a good distraction from the misery that stabbed her throughout the day as her thoughts drifted to Jon. That, and the murders that began to occur around Harrenhal. The first to fall was Polliver, his neck broken. Dria had been taking a rare moment to herself, sitting with Gendry and Arya as Gendry worked. Arya was still oblivious to the nature of their relationship, even as Dria struggled to conceal her blush at the sight of Gendry’s half naked body. Polliver’s death caused the distraction she needed at that moment. The second to die was a guard in Tywin’s employ who had important information to relay to Tywin. He opened the door and dropped dead as Tywin and Dria watched. Tywin ordered Harrenhal to be searched for the assassin, heading the charge himself. He dismissed Dria and Arya early. Arya headed straight to the space behind the blacksmith’s cottage with Hotpie so that she could practice her swordsmanship in the gathering darkness whilst the soldiers were distracted. Dria found herself alone with her thoughts for the first time in a long time. For a brief moment she thought about Jon. She had not dreamt about him since the night she had heard him ask her to join him. In her mind that confirmed his death. There was nothing to see if he was no longer with her. She felt her heart pang, feeling guilty for almost entirely letting him go. But what else could she do? She had doubted for a long time that her love was as strong as she had thought. Three years she had stood by his side, kept their relationship secret so as not to upset his father. She didn’t want to make the same mistake now that he was gone. She could hear Gendry outside at the forge. They had not been alone together since their first night. Arya had no idea that they were man and woman. She hoped the guilt would subside soon as her heart healed under Gendry’s control. It had been two years almost to the day since she had last seen Jon. Now he was dead and she couldn’t keep dwelling on her love for him. She had to look forwards or she would be consumed. Dria ran her fingers over her own skin, remembering what it had felt like to be with Gendry, his strength like nothing she had ever experienced. She crossed to the door and pulled it open enough for her to stand in the doorway, watching him. She cleared her throat so that he turned to look at her.

“Are you okay?” He asked, panting slightly from the hammering. His torso was glistening with sweat. Dria felt her breath catch in her throat.

“Yes.” She nodded to emphasise her point.

“Where’s Arya?”

“Out with Hotpie.”

Gendry lowered his hammer. “You’re alone?” His eyes were afire. Dria smiled minutely and nodded again. Gendry looked around himself before unfastening his apron and heading towards her. It was the first time they had been alone in days and in that time Tywin had been having his way with her. Now it was Gendry’s turn. She stepped back as he entered the door and shut it behind him. She ran her hands up his torso and around his neck, her head inclined as his own strong hands snaked around her waist. He stooped to kiss her deeply, having wanted to do little else for days. She kissed him back and he span her around, pinning her against the door to keep it shut as he lifted her effortlessly up, her legs hooked around his waist. She ran her fingers through his hair as he looked at her, her lips slightly parted as he wriggled out of his belt and slid inside her. She gasped as he took her against the door, commanding the embrace so that every cell in her body moulded to him. She bit her lip to keep from crying out as she gripped his shoulders. They were both close to climaxing, her nails digging into him, when Gendry felt the door move a little.

“Dria?” It was Arya. “Are you in there?”

Gendry looked at Dria with wide-eyes. Dria put a finger to her lips and tried not to gasp as he slipped out of her and fixed himself. Dria put her feet back onto the ground, using her back to keep the door closed, and tidied herself before opening the door. Gendry backed up in time to sit on the bed before Arya came in. Dria tried to steady her panting as she smiled at Arya. Arya looked between them with a frown.

“What were you doing?” Arya asked. “The door wouldn’t open?”

“Wouldn’t it? Must have been the hinges.” Gendry said innocently, his arms crossed over his waist to cover the evidence.

“I thought you were practicing.” Dria set about stoking the fire as she steadied her breathing.

“Hotpie is too tired.” Arya shrugged.

“They found the murderer yet?” Gendry asked, changing the subject entirely.

“No. And they’re not going to.”

Dria looked at Arya sternly. “It wasn’t you, was it?”

“Me?” Arya looked shocked. “Of course not. I don’t have needle. That stupid guard took it.” Arya slumped on the bed beside Gendry. Gendry shifted a little away from her with a guilty look at Dria.

“Until they do it’s probably best if you stay close.” Dria said, clearing her throat a little.

“I know who it is.” Arya said.

“What?” Gendry frowned at her.

“Arya. You haven’t made deals with anyone, have you.”

“Not deals, no. Only with the Red God.”

“Who?” Dria’s eyebrows knitted together, confused.

“The Red God. Jaqen H’ghar said I owed the Red God three lives.” Arya shrugged. Dria and Gendry exchanged glances like worried parents.

“Who’s Jaqen H’ghar?”

“A friend.” Arya yawned and laid down on the bed, kicking Gendry so that he stood up. He crossed to stand beside Dria.

“Do you have any idea who she’s talking about?” Dria said worriedly as they watched Arya recite her list of names.

“I think he’s one of the men who got drafted when we did.” Gendry shrugged. “That’s all I know.”

“Is he dangerous.”

“Evidently. But only if she names you. Best stay in her good books, ay?” Gendry offered her a small smile but Dria didn’t return it. His own faded and he ran a hand down her arm. “Hey. Stop worrying.”

“That’s all I ever do.” Dria sighed. She allowed herself a split second to lean against him, feel his stability, closing her eyes as he kissed the top of her head and savouring the feeling before pulling away and clearing her throat. The last thing Arya needed right now was to think Dria was being unfaithful to Jon. Knowing her brother was most likely dead would kill her.

Gendry lightly kissed Dria’s fingers as she curled up in the bed and draped her hand out of the side to where he lay on the stone floor. In the darkness he gave her a reassuring smile. Dria squeezed his hand and closed her eyes, letting sleep wash over her.

A black-haired baby with Dria’s turquoise eyes blinked up at her. Around her she could hear the sound of waves and a voice she hadn’t heard since her childhood: her uncle, a Kings Landing smuggler. “They’d be proud, Dria. So proud.” He said, but Dria couldn’t see him. She only had eyes for the baby in her arms and he only had eyes for her, his mother.

Before long the time came for Tywin to move out with his armies. Preparations rang around the camp and he dismissed Arya and Dria from service. He thanked Dria for her company and handed her a gold necklace. She frowned at him, bowing her head in thanks as he swept out of the room. Her heart was in her chest. He was leaving, which meant their protection in Harrenhal was also leaving. It meant he was on his way to kill Arya’s brother. They were standing on shifting sands. Dria had to collapse in the empty room as she fought the panic rising up inside her. What would become of them now? Outside the window she could hear the sound of horns as the armies moved out, the galloping dying down as Tywin’s own elite left with him. Dria dragged herself to her senses and left the room, needing to find Arya, to find Gendry. It was as Dria left the ruins that she saw Arya speaking with a tall man with a white streak in his hair. Their conversation looked heated but before Dria could reach them the man left.

“Who was that?” Dria asked.

“Jaqen H’ghar. He’s going to help us escape.” Arya said in a high voice. She looked at Dria’s tearstained cheeks and then the necklace in her hand. “What’s that?”

“Oh. Lord Tywin gave me it.” She pocketted the necklace before Arya could make a grab for it.

“He gave you it? Why did he give you it?” There was no denying the suspicion in her voice.

“As a thank you, I think.”

“Do you admire him?” Arya sounded horrified now.

“What? No.”

“How can you admire a man like Tywin Lannister? He’s going to kill Robb!”

“I know. Shh!” Dria insisted, looking around them. “Let’s talk about this in the room.” Dria caught hold of Arya’s arm and dragged her in the direction of their lodgings before she could attract unwanted attention. Arya let rip as soon as the door was closed.

“He’s a tyrant, Dria! And you admire him?!”

“I don’t!” Dria argued.

“He gave you gold! Why would he do that unless you…” She gasped, tears suddenly flooding her eyes. “Were you sleeping with him?”

Dria looked shocked, like Arya had slapped her, but there was no denying it in her face. Arya gasped again and hit out at Dria so that Dria had to step out of the way.

“How could you!” She shrieked. “What about Jon!”

“Arya you don’t understand!” Dria shouted back, catching her fists and fighting tears herself. She pinned Arya’s hands to her sides like she had needed to do so much when Arya was a child. “Listen to me!” Arya struggled but Dria held firmly. “It wasn’t by choice. It was consent or be raped.”

“He paid you in gold! You’re a whore!” Arya shrieked. Dria slapped her hard across the face before she realised what she had done. Arya stared at her, shocked. Dria had never once laid a hand on her. Dria, realising, covered her mouth and began to sob. Her sobs shook her entire body and Arya knew she had gone too far. Dria sank to a sitting position, sobs racking her form, and Arya wiped her tears angrily away, her hand on her red cheek. “Dria. I didn’t mean it… You’re not. I just… what about Jon.” Her words made Dria’s head jerk as though she had slapped her back. There was silence for a few moments.

Dria composed herself, unable to look Arya in the eye. “Arya. I need to tell you something.” Arya could tell from her tone that it was something serious. She sank down onto her knees beside Dria, waiting, watching her carefully.

“What is it?”

“Jon.” Dria said.

“Do you not love him anymore?”

“Of course I do!” Dria said quickly. She shook her head, knowing she needed to explain better. “What do you know of my people, Arya. Of Dauphin and the Tawn family.”

“Nothing.” Arya said. “Maester Luwin never really talked about it.”

“Do you know what visions are.”

“Yeah. Like dreams.”

“Dreams that come true.”

“What does that have to do with Jon?”

“I had one about your brother. About Jon. He…” Dria stopped herself, unable to take Jon from Arya like this.

“What’s wrong with Jon?” Arya whispered, shock in her face. Dria looked at her properly for the first time since she had slapped her. Her cheek was bright red. Dria began to sob again as she wrapped her arms around Arya.

“I believe he’s… he’s missing.” She settled on. It wasn’t the truth, but it wasn’t the best news either.

“Missing? But if he’s missing North of the Wall… Uncle Benjen said men never come back from there.” Dria said nothing, realising Arya had probably explained it exactly. Arya shook her head. “Then we’ll find him.” She said, pulling out of Dria’s arms and speaking as though it were simple.

“How? He’s hundreds of miles away. And we’re trapped here.”

“No.” Arya shook her head. “Jaqen is going to get us out tonight. At midnight. We’ll go North to the Wall. Find Jon.” Dria stared at her. There was only so much condoning she could present to the child in front of her. Soon Arya would need to wake up to the harsh reality of the truth.

“Arya… I don’t....” She started, but Arya interupted.

“Trust me, Dria. You’ve spent years looking after me. Now it’s my turn to look after you.” Arya threw her arms around Dria’s neck and held her close. “I’m sorry I called you a whore.”

“I’m sorry I slapped you.” Dria whispered, holding Arya close, not knowing how to break it to her.

“Trust me.” Arya repeated, looking at her carefully. “Midnight. We need to find Gendry and Hotpie.”

And Arya was gone before Dria could process what had just happened. She got to her feet and struggled to come to terms with the lie she had fed Arya. It wasn’t a lie, not really. She didn’t know where Jon was. She didn’t even know where they were, not really. She had no idea how long it would take to reach the Wall from Harrenhal. That was if they could get out at all.

Hours later they walked out of the gate just as Arya had said, set to head North. To Jon. Dria looked sideways to where Gendry offered her a reassuring smile and she felt the telltale guilt again. If her dream had not been true, if she had misread it, she would have a lot of explaining to do when they made it to the Wall.

If they made it to the Wall. 


	11. Episode 3: Faithless and Godless (Pt. 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dria, Gendry, Arya and Hotpie make their way North.

An unknowable series of days grew around the small band of travellers as they attempted to scramble their way North. The woods were thick, the terrain difficult and they grew weary with every day that passed. The nights were the worst. Arya would begin the watch as she found it difficult to sleep, meaning Gendry and Dria had no space to talk. Hotpie followed them along like a loyal dog. At least the lad could cook when they succeeded in catching fish from the stream or the odd squirrel from the trees. They had set out with very few weapons, only those that Gendry had thought to steal: a sword each, but no bows and arrows that could have come in handy when hunting. On the fifth day, as Arya drifted off and Dria took over the watch, she found her eyes drooping. They were camped by a small freshwater stream after drinking their fill and helping themselves to the odd freshwater crabs that lived in the rocks. The water line had receded a little now in the light of the moon. Dria sat with her back against a boulder, her knees drawn up to her chest as she watched the water ebb by. A little way off from her lay Hotpie, snoring loud enough to keep the animals at bay, and Gendry. He was shivering a little, unused to the weather so far north. They had been reluctant to light a fire lest they draw attention to themselves. Dria shrugged off her thick winter cloak, the only remnant remaining with her from her time in the Stark household, and draped it over him. He stirred but did not wake as she watched him for a moment. She was accustomed to the cold after so many years. Settling herself back against the rock, her eye fell on a collection of rocks on the shore and something shiny glinting as the current lapped it. Dria glanced around her and then leant down to the stream, the stones crunching beneath her knees. It was the head of a pike spear, at least 6 inches long and a shining steel. It had clearly broken off further upstream and had laid dormant. It was beautiful. Dria knew it might come in handy. She had lost the knife Jon had given her to Lannister soldiers. She ran her finger over the edge and found it still drew blood. She jumped a little at the pain but smiled. Pikes were the weapons of her people. Something about this weapon fitted her. She made a mental note to find a suitable stick to create the weapon properly during their journey and settled herself back against the boulder. She watched over Arya for a few moments. They had come so far. Arya was not a girl anymore. At some point in the last few months she had become a young woman. Dria supposed it must have been when her father was killed. Dria looked back over the stream and found her thoughts turning to poor Sansa. Tywin Lannister had said nothing of any death of the eldest Stark daughter. As far as he knew Sansa was still to marry Joffrey. Dria felt they must be keeping her well if that was indeed the case. She was probably brainwashed beyond recognition by Lannister ideals but at least she was safe. Or alive if not safe. If only they could tell her they were alive and heading North. Once they reached Winterfell they would find a way to get to her, to rescue her from their claws. If indeed they ever made it to Winterfell. From what Dria could tell from the stars above they were heading North, but they were yet to reach the Red Fork that signified they were on the correct path. Navigating without the Kings Road was beyond difficult but they couldn’t risk being caught by Lannister soldiers. Gods be good they had lost enough without being caught again. Dria had defintiely had enough of being held captive to last a lifetime. Dria took a moment to think of everyone she herself had lost. She was scarcely 18 years old and already had known so much death. Her father, her mother, her brother. Ned Stark, Jory Cassel, Jon. Dria closed her eyes as tears spurted uncontrollably down her cheeks. She had to stop thinking about him with such guilt. The guilt, she figured, came from the not knowing for sure. Her preminitions had always come true but on a timeline of their own. Maybe the guilt came from her misreading of the prophetic dream. She looked down at Gendry, thinking about her feelings for him. Whether Jon were alive or not, they were no longer married. She was breaking no vows. At least, if nothing else, heading north would give her the answer she sought.

Gendry blinked himself awake as he noticed Dria watching him. He went to speak, to ask why she was crying, but she put a finger to her lips and shook her head. In silence he crawled out from beneath her cloak, pausing briefly to frown at it as he realised it was there, and then moved closer to her. Without speaking a word he wrapped his muscled arms around her shoulders and draped the cloak around them both, holding her against his chest as she sobbed quietly, her hand clamped over her mouth to stop the noise. He waited for her to get it out of her system, his thumb gently stroking the skin of her shoulder, his lips in her hair. Neither of them spoke but neither of them needed to. He knew why she was crying. It was the only reason she ever cried: guilt. He knew all too well why she felt it, he felt it too. That little niggling voice that told them they were being stupid believing a dream as fact. Heading North would give them the answer they needed, but if it were the answer they feared where did that leave them? He had grown to love her with every ounce of his being. To find out her husband, her first love, was actually alive would crush him because he knew she would leave him. He could and would never compare to Jon Snow. There was too much history there, no matter how much he loved her now. He held her as she cried herself to sleep against his chest, feeling her go heavy. Without having said a word he knew they were on the same page. He lightly kissed the top of her head and settled himself against the rock for the long night ahead, his love in his arms and his heart so heavy it might as well have been filled with stones.

Thankfully Dria woke before Arya. She sat bolt upright, realising where she had fallen asleep, and wiped her crusted eyes as she untangled herself from the cloak. Gendry frowned at her as she did, having been half asleep himself.

“Morning.” He whispered blearily.

“Good morning.” Dria gave him a small smile. That was all that was needed to thank him for holding her. She brushed her thick hair back up into a plaited style and accepted her cloak back from Gendry, draping it about her shoulders and dragging herself to the stream to wash her face. As she looked into the water she remembered the pike point in her pocket and gave it a small squeeze through her skirt. Having it there gave her strength.

“Breakfast?” Gendry asked, picking up what was left of their supplies and offering her a bite. She declined and, having wiped the tears from her face, shook Arya awake.

“What time is it?” Arya asked as she sat up and kicked Hotpie awake.

“What’s for breakfast?” He asked.

“It’s midmorning.” Dria said, squinting at the suns position in the sky. “We should get moving.”

“How do you do that?” Gendry asked, impressed, as Dria began to gather the very few things they owned.

“What?”

“Know what time it is just by looking at the sky?”

“She’s magical, duh.” Arya teased as she helped herself to breakfast.

Dria shook her head. “It’s no different to wayfaring. We learn it from the moment we can speak.” She shrugged.

“You’re amazing.” Gendry said breathlessly before catching the puppy-dog look on his face and clearing his throat. “Come on.” He said, hurrying Hotpie along.

“If we follow the stream we’ll find the river.” Dria said decisively, already beginning to walk along it.

“How do you know that?” Hotpie grumbled.

“Water flows downhill.” Dria said as though it were obvious. “If we follow the current downhill we’ll eventually find where it branches into the river.” She was picking her way over rocks ahead of them already, filled with an unexplainable new determination to get North.

Sure enough, by mid-afternoon, they found the river. Hotpie had begun to complain to the point where Gendry wanted to hit him, and Arya was oddly quiet. Dria fell instep beside Arya, blanking out the boys bickering behind them as she did.

“Are you alright?”

“What if we get North and it’s not how we left it?” Arya said quietly. “What if, with Robb and mother away, something happened to Bran and Rickon.”

“What makes you think that?” Dria asked, concerned.

Arya shrugged. “A feeling.”

“Well.” Dria thought about what to say. “I have a feeling too. I feel Bran and Rickon are alive and fine. They’re in the North and they’re safe.” She could see Arya wasn’t convinced. “Have I ever been wrong?”

“No.” Arya agreed.

“Well then.” Dria ruffled her hair so Arya pushed her away but she was laughing. She paused to look up at Dria and they both stopped walking. Her smile had faded.

“Have you dreamt anymore.” Arya asked quietly. “About Jon?”

Dria’s breath caught in her throat. She forced herself to swallow hard and then shook her head. “No. Sorry.” She had always told herself she would never lie to Arya.

“I should have used one of the names on Tywin.” Arya muttered.

“What?” Dria frowned, concerned. She stooped to Arya’s height and put her hands on her shoulders. “What do you mean?”

“Jaqen gave me three names and I should have used one on Tywin when I learned what he had been doing to you.”

Dria’s expression softened and she shook her head, putting her arms around Arya. “Dear child, you mustn’t think like that.”

“I could have saved you.”

“Arya.” Dria held her at arms length again. “You didn’t know until you’d already used all three names. And without you doing that we wouldn’t be here. If you’d given Tywin’s name who knows what would have happened. His soldiers would have probably killed us, certainly raped us. Okay?” Arya nodded slowly. “Don’t worry about Tywin. Men like him always get what’s coming to them. And don’t you worry about me, either. I’m a grown woman. I can make my own decisions. And more often than not I make them for the good of everyone involved.” She tapped Arya on the cheek decisively. Arya nodded again , though she still looked unconvinced. “For example, I decide we’re stopping here.” She looked at the trees around them. “It’s covered so we’ll be sheltered, we could even light a fire if we go a little deeper in. We found the river so we’ll have fish for supper, and come morning we’ll head North. Home.”

“I couldn’t do this without you, Dria.” Arya said, hugging Dria tightly around the waist. Dria smiled and stroked her hair.

“And I couldn’t do this without you, kid.” She said softly as Gendry and Hotpie reached them. Arya sprang away as though Dria was suddenly lava hot, not wanting to seem kid-like or immature.

“We’re stopping here.” Arya said as though it were her decision. Dria smirked but let her have it. She stomped deeper into the woods to find a good spot for a fire, Hotpie on her heels. Gendry waited until she was out of earshot before turning to Dria.

“What was that about?”

“It seems I’m not the only one feeling guilty.” Dria shrugged slightly. She put a hand on Gendry’s arm to reassure him. “Can you see about catching us some fish?”

“Sure.” Gendry nodded. For a split second he wrapped his fingers around Dria’s own before he turned to the river and slid down the bank to the edge.

As darkness fell Arya and Hotpie dozed off happily by the fireside, full and content for the first time in a long time. They were on track, homeward bound. Gendry sat with his back against a tree and his stolen sword on his knee, sharpening it with a stone. He watched as Dria got to her feet.

“Where are you going?” He asked in a hushed voice.

“I just… need a minute alone.” Dria said with a small smile. It had occurred to her whilst sat around the fire that she hadn’t had a prophetic dream in a long time. She wondered if she was subconsciously blocking them. She turned her back on Gendry and headed back to the riverside a little while away, leaving them in the thicket of trees with the fire.

Once alone at the riverside she removed her boots and left them, along with her cloak, in a pile. She needed to feel the Gods with her as she walked further down river, fishing into her pocket for the pike point. She needed to find the perfect handle. During supper she had fashioned a small string of rope from tree bark under the guise of fiddling and being lost in thought. She had watched Gendry make weapons enough to know what kind of shaft she needed, but this needed to be something she did herself. It didn’t take her long to find the perfect piece of wood. It fit inside the point perfectly and moulded to her touch as she manipulated it into a weapon. Glancing over her shoulder in the gathering darkness, checking she was alone, she began to swing it. She had learnt to use a sword from Syrio Forel but this was the weapon of her people. It moved expertly under her command and she found it came naturally. Somewhere in her DNA the training sprang to life in her mind, telling her body how to move. She was panting by the time she looked about her, realising she had been alone for a long while. She wiped sweat from her brow and stroked the pike in her hands. She already felt stronger, ready for anything. She walked back along the river to where she had left her boots and laid the weapon down beside the pile. The river by her side was of a steady current and she suddenly felt the urge to bathe in it. She glanced to where the fire was still crackling through the trees and began to remove her blouse, belt and skirt, folding them neatly and placing them on a large boulder so they wouldn’t grow damp. Her body was white in the full moonlight that shone down on her and she slipped tentatively into the cold water. Instantly she felt rejuvinated. The water at its deepest came up to her stomach and so she stooped below the surface to wet her hair, face and shoulders. The temperature didn’t bother her as she felt the water wash away the last few months. She welcomed it. A trait of Dauphin natives was ability to hold their breath underwater for a great deal of time and she demonstrated this now as she washed herself beneath the surface. When she eventually emerged it was with a gasp as she began to wade back towards the shore.

Gendry was leant against the rock watching her. She swept her wet hair back over her shoulders and smiled at him, glancing back to where Arya and Hotpie were still asleep by the fire. Gendry was smiling as he shrugged off his tunic and stripped from his boots and breeches. “We appear to be alone, my lady.” He whispered just loud enough for her to hear, sliding naked into the water. He waded towards her and wrapped her in his arms, lifting her clean up around his waist as she kissed him. Neither of them particularly noticed the cold as he carried her to the sloped shore, laying her back against the grass and kissing down her neck and over her trembling breasts. She gasped quietly, clutching clumps of grass with her hands, as he thrust inside her and took her there and then, out in the open, half in and half out of the river. She bit down on his shoulder to keep from crying out as she climaxed in his arms, and he followed shortly afterwards, his fingers entwined in her damp hair and his mouth on hers to keep himself silent. She giggled softly as she kissed him, her fingers brushing soot from his face.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” Gendry whispered. Dria smiled at him, the happiest she had been in a long time, and kissed him gently. “I’m freezing.” He added, helping her up off the bank and then allowing her to help him up. They both dressed in flirtatious silence before Dria picked up her pike. Gendry raised an eyebrow, impressed, but said nothing as they headed back to the fire hand in hand. Gendry draped Dria’s cloak over them both as they lay beside the fire-pit, momentarily throwing caution to the wind as they attempted to warm up. It was in the early hours of the morning that Dria woke up enough to roll just far enough away to avoid suspicion should Arya wake up first.

They set off next morning upriver, heading North by the current of the river. It branched off for a short while with no way to follow it and so they headed through a clump of trees in an attempt to meet up with it later on. Dria wasn’t worried, they had a vague notion of where they were going. It was as they walked through the trees that they heard singing and their content mood turned to one of panic. They threw themselves behind a stone ruin, Gendry drawing his sword and Dria tightening the grip on her pike as three bandits came into view. Arya didn’t notice the look of fear Gendry and Dria shared. 

“Could be a minstrel?” Hotpie offered helpfully, “Minstrels carry gold.” Gendry kicked him and Dria covered his mouth so he couldn’t shout out. It was too late, the men had heard him, judging by the arrow that whistled between Dria and Gendry seconds later.

“What’s lurking behind that wall?” One of the men called. Dria released Hotpie so she could grip her pike again. “A lion? A wolf?”

“Just a dirty little cub, I think.” Another offered.

“Loose a few more shafts.” A third said. Arya, before Dria could stop her, whirled into view to stop the enslaught. Dria went to run after her but Gendry put a hurried arm over her chest to stop her. Dria glared at him but stepped down as the bandits called out.

“Put the sword down, girl.” There was a smattering of laughter amongst the bandits.

“You go on down the road.” Arya threatened, her voice shaking, “Just keep on singing so we know where you are. Leave us be and I won’t kill you.”

More laughing. “Generous.” One offered. “You’re a dangerous person. I like dangerous people. Why are your friends so shy?” Arya glanced in fear at Dria for a split second before looking back at the bandit.

“What friends?”

More laughter. “The fat one to your left and the lad beside him. And… what’s that? A woman?” There was dirty sounds of glee as Gendry, Hotpie and Dria pushed off the wall and stepped into view. The bandits looked Dria and her pike over with a look of amusement.

“Three young ones carrying castle-forged swords and pike-the-warrior-princess?” The bandits exchanged glances, “You escape from Harrenhal?” There was a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Who are you?” Arya demanded.

“Thoros of Myr.” The bandit held a hand out for Arya to shake. She declined.

“Who do you fight for?”

“The brotherhood without banners.” Thoros said proudly. “Now come along. I want to hear how two boys, a woman and a very dangerous girl escaped Harrenhal.” Thoros made to leer at Dria threateningly but she whacked him in the calf with the end of the pike. He stepped off, laughing, and gestured for his archer friend to lower the bow he had raised. “She’s got fire. I like my women fiery.”

“I’ll wager you still need a cock to enjoy fiery women.” Dria threatened, surprising even herself. There was no laughter at her words, only raised impressed eyebrows.

“That’s who the mountain and them lot were looking for. They’ll bring us back and put rats in us.” Hotpie spoke up. Dria and Gendry exhanged a look, remembering Gendry’s close call.

“You’ve got nothing to fear from us.” Thoros said. “The Lords of Westeros want to burn the countryside. We’re trying to save it. Now come on. We’ll talk some more over brown bread and stew. Then you can go on your way.” Thoros shrugged as though it meant nothing. Dria narrowed her eyes. Something didn’t feel right. She looked from Gendry to Arya.

“We keep our weapons.” She said, speaking up. Thoros clenched his jaw and nodded.

“Agreed. So long as we keep ours.”

“Agreed.” Dria replied.

“This is going to be fun.” Thoros looked to his men, laughing. “It’s been a while since we’ve had the pleasure of a woman’s company.”

“Yeah well it’s going to be longer still.” Gendry spoke before Dria could stop him, “This woman is taken.” Arya frowned at him as Dria looked at him, horrified. The tone in his voice had been one of territory marking.

“Alright.” Thoros raised his hands. “She’s all yours.”

“She isn’t anyones.” Dria said quickly, fixing Gendry’s mistake. But it was too late, judging by the look on Arya’s face.

Thoros chuckled. “You have my word, so long as you’re with us nobody will touch you.” He gestured back the way they had come. “After you.”

As they filtered through the ruin in the wake of the Brotherhood without Banners Arya couldn’t help but watch Dria and Gendry for the subtle cues they were giving each other, a silent ticking off and apology. For the first time in her life Arya didn’t know how she could have been so stupid.


	12. Episode 3: Faithless and Godless (Pt. 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya makes a decision about Dria's future.

Journeying with the Brotherhood proved to be enlightening. They bid farewell to Hotpie at an inn in the Riverlands as the baker kept him on. He seemed happy to be leaving and the Brotherhood were more than happy to sell him. The Brotherhood captured the Hound, former guardian to the King, as they left the Riverlands and Arya’s identity was learned by Thoros. For now he didn’t seem to want to do anything with it, but Dria couldn’t help but feel wary about Thoros and his ability to squeeze the money out of any situation. She figured it must come from living in the woods so long, outlawed. That was, after all, what they were now. Outlaws. Arya and Gendry were wanted by the crown and Dria was just… nobody. Dria was terrified Thoros might sell them to the highest bidder, which in this case would be the Lannisters. She kept him in her sights as much as possible. At least whilst staying at the inn they had a proper bed for the first time in almost a year. She slept deeply for the first time in so long, so deep that she did not even dream. Her prophetic dreams seemed to have foresaken her. She wondered if it was because there was nothing to come worth being forewarned about. They were permitted to ride from the inn to the Brotherhood’s camp. Dria was given her own horse. It was the first time she had ridden since they had left the North. It felt wonderful to be astride a horse again. Despite the kindnesses they were being shown, kindnesses which seemed to be convincing Gendry and even Arya to some extent, Dria kept her pike close, wary of their new companions. As they rode through endless woodland, Dria losing all sense of direction as they left the riverside, Thoros kept his own horse in time with Dria’s.

“Your weapon.” He said. “Did you make it yourself? Or did your blacksmith friend make it for you?”

“I made it.” Dria replied. Thoros looked impressed.

“Those eyes of yours. I’ve only ever seen them one other time.” Dria shifted her unusual turquoise eyes to meet Thoros’, waiting. “That eye colour is a native trait of Dauphin, is it not?”

Dria blinked at him. “You know of Dauphin?”

“I do. Lost many companions in the civil war.” Dria couldn’t help but offer a small smile of mutual loss. Thoros returned it. “Am I correct in my deduction then? You’re a native Dauphinian?”

“I am.” Dria said quietly. “Or I was.”

“An outcast? Like me?”

“Refugee.” Dria corrected. Thoros nodded in understanding.

“You are unlike any woman I have ever met, my lady.” He said. Arya and Gendry watched suspiciously at the hushed conversation Dria and Thoros were having. They couldn’t hear a word but it looked companionable.

“I’m not a lady.” Dria argued automatically. She was on the defensive, especially as Thoros knew of Dauphin. The last thing she needed was to be on his list of possible bartering tools too.

“Apologies. I neglect to adhere to customs.” He tapped her pike. “Can you use it?”

“Yes.” Dria replied curtly.

“Where did a woman like you learn to use a weapon like that?”

“Back home in Dauphin women were treated equal to men.” Dria said with her jaw set, clenching her fist around her weapon, “From the moment we could walk we were given spears and trained. It’s a small island. They can’t always rely on men to fight their battles.” Dria fell quiet, looking at the pike and remembering how her uncle had overthrown her father. She wondered if it were the same now, or whether her misogynist uncle had followed the rest of Westeros and put women in their ‘rightful place’. “I’d almost forgotten all of it, so long I have been lost in the world of curtsies and ‘milord, milady’.” She was less speaking to Thoros than to her pike now, the words just tumbling out. “It’s only recently that I’ve felt free enough to remember my own identity, or what it’s like to fight.”

“How does a Dauphinian refugee come to be working for the Starks?” Thoros asked, reminding Dria sharply to whom she was speaking.

“You ask too many questions, ser.” Dria said curtly. Thoros smirked.

“My apologies.” He said with a wizened smile. He glanced over his shoulder to where Gendry was glaring at him. “I don’t think your blacksmith likes me, much.”

“He’s not mine.” Dria said, tired of Thoros now. Thinking about Dauphin had rendered her sad. Thoros picked up on this and nodded.

“Very well.” He said. He looked about himself and then produced a black sack from his saddlebag. “My apologies again, ocean eyes, but we’d rather you and your companions didn’t see where we are going. May I place this over your head?” Dria frowned at him, ready to decline, but Thoros cut her off. “You see I asked out of courtesy, but really I’m going to do it anyway.” Thoros smirked, pulling the hood over Dria’s head, blacking out the world. She heard complaints from Gendry and Arya behind her, telling her the same had happened to them. Dria was left alone with her thoughts, helpless to Thoros’s hand on her horse, guiding her. She thought about the whole predicament. Of all the people who could have captured them, it seemed they could have done worse. At least it wasn’t Harrenhal or the Red Keep. But there was the concern of the Hound. It would take everything she had to stop Arya from risking her own life to avenge the butcher’s boy.

The cave into which they were led was dingy, dark and close. There was a large fire-pit in the middle, roaring high and drenching everything surrounding it in the smell of woodsmoke. Dria blinked at the bright light as her hood was removed and she found herself standing beside Gendry, Arya on her side. Arya was avoiding her eye-contact for some unknowable reason. Dria frowned at her, but was prevented asking as Thoros handed Dria back her pike.

“Keep it close.” He said, winking.

“You two seem close.” Gendry said quietly as Thoros walked away. Dria looked up at him. She was sure there was jealousy in his voice.

“He knew Dauphin as it was.” Dria offered by way of explanation. Gendry frowned at her, jealousy fading and replaced with confusion and sympathy. It was very rare that Dria got to talk about her homeland. He felt bad for suspecting her. He wanted to take her hand to apologise but Arya was watching them carefully. Gendry remembered his blunder and cleared his throat. They turned their attention to where the Hound was challenging the Brotherhood. He was silenced when a figure stepped from the darkness, an eyepatch over his face and a thick Northern cloak about his shoulders.

“Is that…” Arya started, and Dria finished.

“Beric Dondarrion. Yes.” She whispered.

“He was sworn to King Robert.” Arya whispered back.

“Sent out by your father as Hand.”

“He’s seen better days.” Arya said. She suddenly remembered she was annoyed at Dria and fell silent again, distracted by Ser Beric’s battle of words with the Hound. Anger bubbled in her stomach as she remembered Mycah. Dria glanced sideways at her as though reading her thoughts.

“There is nothing you can do.” She whispered.

“I can try.” Arya spat.

The Hound was challenged to trial by combat. Beric Dondarrion was to be his opponent. They all watched in horror as the battle commenced. Dria was fascinated by Thoros’ prayer to the Lord of Light for whom he was a priest. The Lord lit Beric’s sword on fire and the heat ricocheted off the walls. Gendry dragged Dria back a few steps and Dria put a hand on Arya’s shoulder. Arya shrugged her off, having seen Gendry’s protective manouvre. They watched as combat ensued. Beric fought well, his flame sword eating into the Hound’s fear of fire, but ultimately the Hound’s strength won out. Beric was slain and instantly Thoros threw himself on his body, muttering a prayer to the Lord of Light. Before Dria could react, Arya had pulled a sword from a brother and run forward, intent on slaying the Hound herself.

“Arya!” Dria cried out, but Gendry was already there. He tackled her, pulling her to the ground as the Hound spat insults at her. Gendry dragged Arya to her feet and back to their place in the observation. “What were you thinking?!” Dria scolded, but Arya slapped her hand away.

“You don’t tell me what to do.” She spat. Dria frowned at her. Arya had never spoken to her in such a way and the fact she was now felt like a stab in the heart. She opened her mouth to ask why but they were once again distracted by Beric Dondarrion, resurrected, unbelievably, by the Lord of Light. Dria stared at him. For the first time in her life she found her own beliefs faltering. Who was this Lord of Light to do such things?

The Hound was sent on his way, released, and supper was served. Arya sat around the fire, away from Gendry and Dria as though deliberately avoiding them. As she lost herself in conversation with Thoros and Beric, Dria excused herself from the cave and headed outside into the darkness. She was overwhelmed and needed to be alone. She crashed into the wall of the cave as her anxieties overcame her, washing over her in tidal waves. She stumbled away from the cave a little further and sank down the rockface to the forest floor, trying not to break into sobs. She took in ragged, haunting breaths as she fought the demons in her chest. Suddenly, out of nowhere, she heard her father’s voice for the first time in a very long time, echoing around her mind as though he were standing right beside her: “Pull yourself together. Tawns do not admit defeat.” Dria opened her eyes and looked about her as though expecting to see him. She shook her head, clearing it of all thoughts of her father. She couldn’t afford to lose herself now. She thought about the Lord of Light and the miracle they had seen earlier in the day. Beric Dondarrion had been dead. Slaughtered, right in front of them, and the Lord of Light had resurrected him. Just like that. She had never seen anything like it, never thought it possible. Could it be some trick? No. His chest had been clean cleaved through. Thoros of Myr had raised him from the grave, the Lord of Light had spared him death. Why? Why was Beric Dondarrion so special? Would the Lord of Light do that for anyone? Dria found herself thinking about her own faith. As a child she had been raised under the Goddess Delphi but all she was good for was good crops, warm tides and prophetic dreams. She would not be any use away from the sea. When she started to work for the Starks she had openly converted to the Old Gods, especially when she had fallen for Jon. Dria’s stomach flipped as she thought about him again. She couldn’t keep doing that. He was gone. Even if he wasn’t dead, if for the first time in her life her dreams were wrong, he was lost to her all the same. He was a brother of the Night's Watch now. Married to the Wall. Dria thought about how different her life would have been if they had run away together. They would still probably be dead. But at least they’d be together. Dria looked up to the stars shining above. The Aeksio star shone the brightest, her Lord watching over her. That’s what he had always told her. Dria wondered if there were really such a thing as Gods. Why was Arya being so nasty to her?

“Dria?”

Dria was pulled from her thoughts. She turned to see Gendry exiting the cave, silhouetted against the fire in the background. She didn’t say anything, just turned away from him.

“What is it?” Gendry asked tentatively, sitting beside her.

“Do you ever wonder what the Gods have in store for you?” She asked quietly, hugging her knees to her chest and looking up at the stars again. Gendry frowned at her, following her gaze.

“Is this because of the Lord of Light thing? It’s a trick. I’m sure it was.”

“No.” Dria shook her head softly. Gendry watched her carefully. She didn’t look at him as she spoke her thoughts aloud. “Sometimes I wonder if it was all leading to this point. Jon. Ned. Sansa. Kings Landing, Harrenhal. All of it. Maybe…” For the first time she spoke aloud the thoughts she had been fighting for months. She looked to Gendry as she spoke. “Maybe Jon was never the one I was supposed to be with.” Gendry’s eyes widened but he said nothing as she continued. “Maybe we just found each other because we were lonely. The bastard and the refugee.” She looked back at the stars. “Maybe neither of us thought of ourselves as worthy of anything but each other. Rejects of the Gods. Of society.”

“Dria…” Gendry said softly, trying to interrupt her spiral of thought, but she turned to him again, sharper this time.

She spoke slowly, her eyes looking over every inch of his face in the moonlight. “Maybe everything that has happened has happened has led to me meeting you.” A heavy silence hung in the air for a moment as Gendry looked at her carefully. She was serious. This was her truth, one that she had never spoken to him before. “I dreamt about you, after all. The man with a bulls head. I never dreamt about Jon. Not before I knew him.” She sighed and looked back to the sky. “Maybe North is the wrong way to go. Maybe I should just leave. Forget my vows to Jon. Forget my promise to Ned. Just leave. Find a farm, live an honest country life. Away from war, away from Starks, Lannisters, Baratheons…” She looked at him intently. “Forget them all. Have kids and raise sheep.”

Her words were stirring something deep and beautiful in Gendry. She was speaking aloud the very thoughts he had been too scared to admit had entered his own mind as he lay awake at night. “With me?” He asked quietly.

Dria nodded slowly. “Don’t you ever just want to leave? I’m so tired of it all.”

Gendry shifted closer to her, his hand finding hers. She squeezed his fingers and she had for the first time all those months ago. “All the tme.” He said, but there was a heavy thought in his mind that threatened to come out. He looked into Dria’s deep, turquoise pools and forced himself to speak. “I possibly still can. Find a job somewhere mending fences, away from armies and weapons and hammers.” He needed to say it. On a heavy sigh he added, “But you can’t.” It was the truth that he had been considering for some time. The one he didn’t want to admit. He was not free because he could not leave her, and she could not leave Arya. She frowned at him, her face a mixture of confusion and hurt. “You sacrificed everything you ever knew or wanted for that girl.” He glanced over his shoulder back to the cave. Dria frowned deeper, waiting to hear where he was going with this. “Whether Jon was the one you were meant to be with or not is irrelevant, Dria. You’re overlooking one important person. Arya.”

“My promise to Ned…” Dria started to argue but Gendry shook his head, moving her hand to hold it against his chest. She could feel his heartbeat through his fingers.

“No.” He said softly. “You say that but it’s an excuse. Have you not noticed? Do you think the way Arya has turned out is the Stark’s doing? No.” He shook his head again, placing his other hand on her cheek. “That’s all you, my love. Everything she is she owes to you.” He squeezed her fingers softly. “Can I give you some advice? Stop feeling guilty. If it is all, as you say, in the hands of the Gods, be them old, or light or any of it… If you think you and I were meant to be, then yeah. Dria,” She softened as he said her name, “You know how I feel about you. I would do anything for you. You have stolen my heart. But,” He kissed her fingers, “If you suddenly decided to take off and head North, or just disappear and never look back…”He let out a ragged sigh, his words difficult to form, “I wouldn’t blame you. Not one bit.” He pressed his lips against her forehead. “And neither would she.” He whispered, meeting her eye again.

Dria said nothing as she looked at him. She didn’t need to, he had said it all. He gently kissed her on the lips, lingering a little longer than was necessary, wanting her to feel everything he had said.

Inside the cave Arya had finished her conversation with Beric and Thoros. She was preparing to lie down and sleep, her list ever longer, when she saw Dria and Gendry outside. In the light of the moon they were locked in an embrace that made Arya’s blood boil. Never once had she hated Adria, but in that moment she hated them both.

Days passed before Dria could stand Arya’s silence no longer. As the morning dawned Arya, as always, was the first to leave the cave. She would be heading to the archery range to practice, taking out whatever her anger was on the straw men. Dria needed to talk to her before that.

“Arya!” Dria called after her. When Arya ignored her, Dria followed, struggling to keep up with her. “Arya, stop! I want to talk to you!”

“I don’t want to talk to you.” Arya spat back at her.

“Arya?” They were outside now, down by the stream. Dria caught up with Arya and put a hand on her shoulder to stop her, but Arya span around and spat her words at her. “You’re a cheating whore!”

Dria stopped, frozen, staring at her. Her chest was tight and her breathing heavy as she took in Arya’s glare. “What?” She breathed. It felt like the walls were crumbling down around her.

“Jon is missing and you’re fucking Gendry. Do you even care that Jon is gone?!” Arya was almost shouting. Dria gasped audibly, shaking her head, trying to make Arya calm down, see sense.

“Arya, child. It’s not like that.” She made to put a hand on Arya’s shoulder again but Arya slapped her away.

“Do you even love my brother at all?” She demanded.

Dria could hardly believe what Arya was saying. “Of course I do. Jon is and always will be my first love.”

“He’s your _husband_.” Arya spat.

“He was.” Dria corrected her. She drew herself up. Arya was almost the same height as her now, but Dria needed to remind her she was the adult here. She needed her to understand. She took a deep breath before explaining. “Our marriage ended when he joined the Nights Watch. Arya, there is no Jon and me anymore.” She swallowed hard, not wanting to admit that Jon was dead, “He’s a brother of the Watch. They can’t take wives, lands, father children. His vow to the Watch is his only vow. Do you understand that? He can’t be married. Whatever Jon and I had is over. It was over the moment we parted ways on the Kings Road.”

“You could have left. Run to him. Run away together.” Arya suggested, her nostrils flaring with anger.

“And done what? Arya, my priority has always been you. If I hadn’t been there on the day your father was captured who knows what would have happened?” Arya fell silent, knowing she was right. She was hot-tempered, she would have taken on Meryn Trant there and then if she could have done to save Syrio. It was Dria who had dragged her away. She would have taken on the whole of Joffrey’s court to save her father from the chopping block. It was Dria who had stopped her. She would have fought tooth and nail and died in the process if it hadn’t been for Dria. Dria ,sensing Arya’s faltering, took her hands now softly in hers, appealing to her. “I love Jon. I always will. But I have to let him go.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Please let me.” She spoke slowly, each word emphasised.

Arya looked at her. She looked at her for a long time. “Do you love Gendry?” She spoke quietly. Dria swallowed hard, her eye contact dropping briefly.

“I wouldn’t be alive without him.”

“But do you love him?” Arya pushed. She wasn’t a child anymore. She needed Dria to stop treating her like one. Dria could see this in Arya now. Everything Gendry had said. Arya was a young woman.

“Yes.” She whispered. “I think I do.”

Arya blinked at Dria. She was torn apart by her thoughts. She loved Dria like a sister, but she knew what had to happen.

“You should stay.”

“What?”

“When Gendry stays with the Brotherhood.” Dria frowned at her. Arya noticed. “He told me last night. He said he’s never had a family… He’s staying. You should stay too. You should be his family.” Arya felt her nostrils flare as she tried not to cry. “I don’t need you anymore. I’m too old for a babysitter. Without Jon or my father there is no need for you to come back to the North. You should stay here. With Gendry. Have whatever life you can before winter comes.”

Dria stared at her.

“What?” Arya asked, frowning at the expression on Arya’s face.

“For the first time, in that moment, I knew you didn’t need me anymore.” Dria’s eyelids fluttered as she fought tears. Arya’s own did the same. She hesitated, then threw her arms around Dria’s neck.

“I’ll be okay.” Arya whispered in Dria’s ear. “I’ll have Robb. You don’t belong in the North. You should take Gendry home. To Dauphin.” She looked at Dria carefully. “Take back your name and your land.”

“When did you get so smart?” Dria asked.

“I had a good teacher.” Arya smiled through the heartbreak she was feeling in her chest. She pushed Dria away and ran to the archery range before Dria could see her cry. Dria tried to fight her own tears, wanted to run after Arya and tell her she would never leave her, but she knew once Arya made up her mind there was no changing it. Dria wiped her eyes angrily and hurried back into the cave.

Beric Dondarrion was sitting by the fire. He beckoned her as she walked past him.

“Dria. Sit with me.”

Dria was taken aback by such a direct request. She glanced around for Gendry but he was not in sight, so she obliged, sitting on the opposite side of the firepit to Beric. He chuckled.

“I’m not a revenant.” He shook his head, amused.

“Depends on your belief.” Dria replied simply. “You did rise from the dead.”

“That I did.” Beric said. “What is your belief, Dria?”

Dria frowned at him, wondering where this was coming from. She shook her head. “I don’t know anymore.”

“A loss of faith?”

“So many factors.” Dria replied simply. “So much death.”

“But so much life, too.” Beric gestured at himself. He cleared his throat. “Thoros told me you are from Dauphin.”

“Did he?” Dria shrugged uncomfortably, knowing she had said too much. Beric nodded.

“I visited Dauphin once. I was intrigued by your history. Especially that of your family, my lady.”

Dria stared at him.

“I’m an educated man, Dria. And Westerosi, unlike our mutual Essosian friend. Thoros knows so much, but not everything. For instance he does not know of the Dauphinian refugee taken in by Lord Eddard Stark. The daughter of the Tawn family, most influential family on Dauphin.” Beric’s voice was smooth as silk and he was unreadable as he looked over the fire at her. He sipped his ale and continued. “The Tawn’s history is an interesting one from what I can remember. Kept secret to those who don’t know where to look for it.”

“I don’t…”Dria started to argue but Beric raised a hand to silence her. Her training took over and he continued.

“For instance,” He said calmly, “I know that Tawn descendants often possess a certain ability, passed down from Delphi herself.” Dria frowned at him. How did he know this? “Care to elaborate?” Dria did not speak. Beric chuckled. “Of course. You don’t know if you can trust me. What if I told you that my Lord of Light is not all that different from your Goddess Delphi? My Lord revives, your Goddess foreworns. It is the Tawn descendants who are born with prophecy, yes?”

“Why does it matter?” Dria said quietly. Her throat was tight.

“Because.” Beric said, getting to his feet. “Your gift is a powerful one. With the right training you could be unstoppable.”

“There is no training.” Dria shook her head. “There is no way to control it.”

“So you are one of the lucky few?” Beric smiled. “And to think you were wasted up in the North for so long. You would be a great asset to the right people.” He didn’t sound threatening. It sounded more like a friendly warning. “And any power can be controlled under the right circumstances.”

“May I leave?” Dria said, not wanting to stay here a second longer. Beric gestured for her to do so and she got to her feet.

“Stay close, Adria Tawn. I may have a use for you yet.” Beric called after her as she hurried away. Still he did not sound threatening. Part of him sounded like he was trying to help. Dria turned to look at him, a smile on his face, before exiting the main chamber of the cave. She couldn’t focus on that now.

Gendry was sitting by his handmade forge putting the last touches to Beric’s mended armour. He looked up when he sensed her standing there.

“You’re staying?” Dria asked.

“I’m considering it.” Gendry said.

“Then so am I.” Dria said. Gendry stared at her.

“What? What about Arya and Riverrun and…” He stopped talking as she kissed him.

“She dismissed me.” Dria said quietly, pulling away from him. Gendry stared at her. She ran her hand over his cheek, gripping his hair softly.

“Dismissed you?” He sounded surprised.

“She told me that you’re staying because you’ve never had a family. She told me to be your family.”

“Do you want to?” He asked quietly, his chest tight.

Dria nodded slowly. Gendry looked at her, his eyes shining. Then, softly, he kissed her deeply, his hand in her hair. She leant against his chest, thinking it all over. She was finding it hard to accept Arya’s dismissal, but she knew it was well meant and perhaps it really was time. Then there was Beric’s warning. He had told her to stay close. Perhaps she had no choice? Dria didn’t know what was going to happen or sure, but for the first time she was sure about one thing: she wanted to be wherever Gendry was. 


	13. Episode 3: Faithless and Godless (Pt. 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dria and Gendry are separated from Arya when a red priestess visits the camp.

“So you’ve made up your mind?” Arya said quietly as she watched Dria hang shirts up on a tree branch. “You’re staying?”

“Arya...” Dria said quietly. “You told me to.”

“I did.” Arya forced a smile. “And I meant it. You look happy.” She spoke the truth. Dria smiled at her.

“Maybe someday our paths will cross again.”

“I hope by that point you and Gendry have hundreds of children and they’ve all got black hair and your eyes. Everything you couldn’t have with my brother.”

“Maybe not hundreds.” Dria giggled and Arya giggled true, but Dria’s giggle faded quickly and she smiled sadly. She paused in her hanging of laundry and pulled Arya in for a hug. The youngest Stark daughter was almost as tall as her now where not long ago Dria had needed to stoop to make her eye-contact.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t be sisters.” Arya whispered, holding Dria close.

“We’ll always be sisters.” Dria whispered back, holding her just as tight. “This changes nothing about my loyalty to you, my lady.”

“I am not...” Arya started.

“A lady. I know.” Dria finished for her. “I just wanted to hear you say it one last time.” She kissed Arya on the forehead and returned to her hanging of clothes. “What will you do when you get to Robb?”

“He won’t let me stay and kill Tywin.” Arya said sourly. Dria jolted a little at Tywin’s name. “He’ll send me home to Winterfell.”

“You never know. He might be so impressed with your dancing skills that he makes you Captain of the Guard.”

“Women can’t be Captain of the Guard.” Arya sulked. Dria looked at her seriously.

“If I have taught you one thing, child, let it be this. The role of women in this world is changing. Maybe you’ll be the first.” Dria offered her a serious smile. Arya frowned at her, wondering if it could ever be possible.

“Maybe on Dauphin where women are trained like men.” Arya sighed. Dria frowned at her.

“You mean you actually remembered something from our lessons?”

Arya shrugged. “Things I actually cared about.”

“Nothing can change without people to take the first step.” Dria said. Arya was interrupted by Gendry coming into view.

“Have you heard?!” Gendry asked as he approached. “There’s some sort of red priestess in the cave. Come to speak with Beric.”

“Red Priestess?” Dria asked with a frown.

“Something to do with the Lord of Light I think.”

“What does she want with Beric?”

“No idea. He’s been brought back from the dead. Maybe he’s important to their religion?” Gendry smiled at Dria and turned to Arya. “You all set?”

“Just about.” Arya said. She looked at the exchanged look that crossed between Gendry and Dria. There was no denying that there was love there. Arya had never known Dria and Jon as a couple but she suspected once Dria looked at Jon like that. It suddenly dawned on Arya just how much of a sacrifice Dria had made. She felt guilty for calling her a cheating whore. Dria loved Jon, that much was clear, but she needed Gendry. She had been through so much heartache, and Gendry was the remedy to all of it. Arya stepped forward and pulled her knife out, pointing it at Gendry’s stomach.

“Whoa, hey.” Gendry said, holding his hands up in defence.

“Arya?” Dria said urgently. Arya ignored her.

“You hurt my sister and I’ll come back and spill your pretty red guts all over the floor. Got it?” Arya said is as menacing a voice as she could manage. Gendry swallowed hard, fighting the urge to laugh but also slightly terrified by the fact Arya was deadly serious. Dria simply stared at Arya. Nobody had ever fought in this way for her before.

“I promise.” He nodded. “Don’t worry, little lady. I won’t hurt her.”

“Good.” Arya retracted her blade and sheathed it again. Gendry tilted his head as he looked at her.

“I’ll miss you.” He said. “Not having you under my feet is going to feel weird.”

“I can’t wait to get rid of you.” Arya replied, but she didn’t mean it and Gendry knew it. Arya offered him a small smile before climbing up the bank and heading away from them. Dria turned back to her laundry.

“How are you feeling about it all?” Gendry asked her, concerned.

“At peace.” Dria replied honestly. She smiled at him, a smile he had not seen her use for so long. It was genuine, but it faded quickly as she looked to the cave. “Do you trust him? Beric?”

“I think so.” Gendry said. “Why, do you not?”

“I spoke with him last night. He knew a lot about me. About Dauphin and my dreams.”

“The man is some form of miracle. He probably gets his knowledge from the Lord of Light himself.”

“The Lord of Light has no hold in Dauphin. This is something else. Who is the red priestess and what does she want here?”

“I guess we’ll find out?” Gendry shrugged. “She’s inside with Beric and Thoros. Nobody else was allowed in, that’s why I came out. Archer wants me to make arrowheads of something but I can’t whilst she’s here.”

“I don’t trust it.” Dria said. “What if she’s here for Arya. Or you.”

“Dria,” Gendry took her hands, “I know life has been like this for so long. But you have to learn to trust. Not everybody is going to hurt you. And you have to let Arya go.” He kissed her fingers. She didn’t want to let down her guard but something in the way he was looking at her made her agree. She nodded and picked up her basket.

“Alright.” Dria said as she scrambled up the bank. “You’re right.”

“Get used to it.” Gendry teased as he followed her. She hit out at him with the basket and he wrapped his arm around her shoulder, kissing the side of her temple as they approached the mouth of the cave. Arya was standing just the other side with Archer.

“Blacksmith!” Archer called, beckoning Gendry over. He took Dria’s hand and they both headed over. “This is what I want.” Archer handed Gendry a bag and Gendry inspected the arrowheads inside.

“Who is the woman in the cave?” Dria asked Archer.

“The red priestess?” Archer replied with a wolf-whistle. “I don’t know, but I hope she stays a while.” Dria rolled her eyes at him.

“What does she want?” Dria asked, but Archer glanced over her shoulder.

“I guess we’re about to find out.” He said, as the red priestess emerged from the cage alongside Thoros and Beric. The trio approached their little group as Gendry handed the arrowheads back to Archer, turning to face Beric as he approached.

“I’m sorry about this, lad.” Beric said quietly, his eyes fixed on Gendry.

“What?!” Dria cried, but she was pushed aside by two Baratheon clad soldiers who took Gendry by the arms and began to lead him to a makeshift cage trap not too far away. The horse was tethered and ready to go. This had been the plan all along. “What are you doing!” Dria made to hurry after Gendry as Archer held Arya back. Beric held out an arm to catch Dria in her haste.

“The Lord of Light needs him.” Beric said calmly.

“What?! Let go of me! He doesn’t even believe in the Lord of Light!” Dria fought against him but Beric was strong.

“All men must serve.” Beric replied quietly. “Gendry is of great use to Him.” Dria watched as Gendry was bound with his wrists behind his back and helped into the cage. The Red Priestess, unphased by the scene, turned to Dria and put her hand under Dria’s chin. Her skin was surprisingly warm. She tilted Dria’s head to look into her unusual eyes.

“Is this the one?” The woman asked Beric.

“Yes.” Beric replied calmly as Dria continued to struggle.

“I can see it in her eyes.” The woman nodded at another set of Baratheon soldiers. They approached Dria and took her by the arms.

“What! What are you doing?!” Dria kicked out but was lifted clean from the ground by the men. Archer was struggling to hold onto Arya as Dria too was dragged to the trap and bound.

“Let them go!” Arya screamed at Beric, running to him and beating out at him. “What does the Lord want with Dria?!”

“She is the Oracle.” The red priestess said calmly. She looked at Dria as she was pushed into the cage. Dria struggled against her bonds.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“You see things to come.” The red priestess said calmly. “You are the most powerful Tawn I have ever met. You are needed.” The woman made a motion for them to move out.

“What?!” Arya was lifted back by Beric. Shouting was exchanged back and forth but it was no use. The cage trap containing Dria and Gendry was pulled away. Arya broke free from Beric and ran after it. Dria, noticing this, swung onto her knees and, unable to escape the trap as it gathered speed, began to sob.

“I’m so sorry!” She cried after Arya. Now that they were separated it became clear to Dria that she never wanted to leave Arya. She had been a fool to even think it. “I will see you again!” The cage trap rounded a corner and Arya stopped running, knowing she would never catch up. “Arya!” Dria cried out, but it was too late. Dria collapsed back against the walls of the cage, her eyes filled with tears and her throat tight with grief. Unable to reach out and comfort her, Gendry instead shifted himself so he could be there for her to lean on as she dissolved into full-bodied sobs.

“It’ll be alright.” He whispered. “I promise. At least you’re not alone.” He kissed the side of her cheek. “Whatever happens I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

But, not knowing what fate had in store, he did not know how to promise that.

“Who is she?” Dria asked. Night had began to fall and still they rode along the bumpy forest roads with no clue as to where they were going or even what lay in store ahead of them. The priestess rode behind the cage trap with such intensity, flanked by her guards, as she simply stared straight ahead unseeingly, determined.

“I have no idea.” Gendry said with a shrug. They sat opposite each other in the cage, their legs spread out and entwined with each other for connection and comfort.

“Do you have any idea what she wants with you?”

Gendry shook his head. “The same reason the King wants me dead, I suppose. I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s who she works for.” He glowered at her in the gathering darkness. “They are Baratheon soldiers after all.”

“No.” Dria shook her head. “The stag. It’s not crowned.”

“What does that mean?”

“Joffrey,” She refused to call him King, “His family are the royal family of Baratheon. Their stage is crowned. These soldiers... they just bare a stag.”

“Old uniforms?” Gendry suggested.

“Or Lord Stannis. Robert’s brother.” Dria frowned, racking her brains. It had been so long since she had thought about the great houses. “Ned believed Stannis was the true heir to the throne of Westeros.”

“Why not Joffrey?”

“I don’t know.” Dria shook her head.

“If it is Stannis, and he is opposed to Joffrey, then we can hope I’m not about to be turned over.”

“Why did Joffrey want you dead anyway?”

“Beats me.” Gendry shrugged. Dria wasn’t convinced by any of it. Ned must have had a reason for wanting Stannis on the throne. Dria frowned at Gendry, trying to work out why he was special to anyone but her. “What do they want with you?” Gendry brought her out of her thoughts. “That woman said something about an oracle?”

“My dreams.” Dria frowned. “I told you Beric knew. He sold me out.”

“Are you that powerful?” Gendry asked, slightly in awe. He had only ever seen her as the woman he loved, he had never dreamed she was anything more. She had never needed to be in his eyes.

“Maybe Stannis hopes to use them.” Dria sighed.

“Could he do that?”

“They don’t work like that. I can’t control them. They show me what I need to see.”

“But they’re never clear?”

“Not really. I never have a timeframe.” Her heart suddenly dropped as she realised something so obvious. _She never had a time frame. What if Jon was not yet dead? Had she really been cheating on him this whole time?_ No. They were no longer married. She looked at Gendry and felt guilty once more.

“Whatever they want.” Gendry said, “At least we’re together.”

Dria nodded, grateful for that at least.

They were together until they boarded a ship. Then they were separated, put in separate cells. Dria had no idea where Gendry was or what was happening to him. She was alone for the first time in a long time. And she was terrified.


	14. Episode 3: Faithless and Godless (Pt. 4)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dria and Gendry arrive in Dragonstone after Dria has been locked in a cell and forced to relive memories and worries that have long since been dormant. A revelation occurs in the form of a new ally Dria meets, although he may know more than he is telling.

Being alone with her thoughts was potentially doing more harm than good. The cell was small and Dria scarcely moved from the makeshift bed upon which she sat. It was barely enough room for her to stretch out her legs whilst sitting, let alone lie down, but it was stable and stability was good. Part of her rejoiced at being back aboard a ship for the first time since she was a girl, but the other half couldn’t help but remember the last time she had been on a ship and her mother had died when it was wrecked. Any bump or jolt in the waves caused Dria to panic, afraid it was going to happen all over again. She hadn’t realised how much she had been dependant on other people as she had not truly been alone for a long time. Now she would give anything for a conversation with someone, anyone. She was not afraid to admit that she was terrified. Terrified of being apart from Arya, terrified of where they were going, terrified of what might be happening to Gendry. She rested her head against the damp wooden wall of her cell and closed her eyes. She had lost all bearings and she had only a tiny window too high for her to see out of so she had no way of finding them again. She had no recollection of the time of day, nor how much time was passing. A Baratheon clad guard came and went twice a day with food. She tried to speak with him, to ask where Gendry was, but he either could not or would not speak. Dria barely ate anything and was too weak or grief stricken at parting from Arya to take not of how many meals had been brought to her. If she had thought about it she could have used them as a marker but she was not thinking straight.

Her thoughts turned to Arya. It was clear now that all parties involved had been putting on a brave face when they had spoken about departing from one another. It had not been on their terms and Arya would not be functioning clearly without Dria. They had been inseparable for years and now they were apart Dria was terrified that Arya would do something stupid and get herself killed. She was skilled, yes, but she was also very young and acted without thinking. Arya had dismissed Dria’s service and yet she still felt guilty for even considering leaving her. She had broken her promise to Ned to always keep Arya safe. She had tried her best but it seemed her best would never be good enough. Dria felt a pain in her chest when she thought of it. She wondered if, before they had been forcibly separated, when the time had come for Arya to leave she would have convinced Gendry that they must follow her to Robb. Gendry would have made a find smith of the Stark house and they were not evil employers. There were far more evil Houses to work for. Dria wondered what Robb would look like now. He had always been kind to her, as had his wife Edeline, formerly of House Bolton. Edeline would be running Winterfell whilst Robb was away. They might even have a child or two by now. And Robb had kept Dria and Jon’s relationship a secret, keeping his promise. Dria hoped they were still alive. Dria thought of little Bran and Rickon and how old and tall they must look. Lady Catelyn had always been so kind to Dria and treated her well. She had been disheartened to learn that Dria had lost her mother and done her best to show her a motherly figure. Dria wondered if she would ever see them again, any of them. Poor Sansa was still trapped in Kings Landing. It occurred to her only now how out of touch with the world they had been. The closest they had been to current affairs was when trapped in Harrenhal and working for the Lannisters. At least then they had learned that Robb had called the banners and that Sansa was still alive. Now they knew nothing. She knew nothing about anyone. Dria let out a small sob as a great wave of loneliness washed over her. She closed her eyes and centred her thoughts.

What did the red priestess want with her? Or Gendry? What had the gold cloaks wanted with him. If only she knew where they were going. They had boarded the ship somewhere in the Stormlands, unguarded, it seemed the red priestess thought they knew better than to run. Their destination was unclear. Sansa was so close and yet had no idea Dria was mere miles away. They must be sailing past Kings Landing, through Blackwater Bay, but to where? Essos? Dria struggled to remember the map of Westeros in her head. It had been so long since she had looked at a book. Dragonstone was in Blackwater, perhaps Stannis was based there, at the old Targaryen seat.

What did he want with them?

Where was Gendry? What had the red priestess meant by ‘oracle’. She had heard that word before a few times, always bounced around in reference to the old seers of House Tawn. They had been dead for centuries and Dria’s dreams were merely a remnant of their powers. She had no way of controlling them and absolutely could not choose when they happened, so why would the red priestess want her? Why did she want Gendry? He was nothing special, not really, to anyone but Dria. He was strong, yes, and talented at weaponsmithing, but he had no special powers of note, no Lordly blood. Stannis could get any smith he wanted so why had the red priestess travelled hundreds of miles from Gods only know where to find him. Had he simply been collateral and the red priestess had been after her?

The questions buzzing about her mind were making her dizzy. She opened her eyes and swung her legs down from the tiny cot upon which she sat. She unfolded her arms and climbed unsteadily onto the wooden bed, craning her neck to peer out of the high slip of a window. She could hear the sea beneath them but that was all. No birds, no seals, nothing. There wasn’t even much wind and she couldn’t even work out the time of day from the inch of sky she could see. She sighed and climbed back down again, stepping down onto the floor and crossing to the door and its tiny barred window through which she could peer.

“Hello?!” She called, her voice a dehydrated rasp. “Is anyone there?”

No answer and there was no one in sight.

Dria kicked the door angrily and crossed back to the cot, sitting back upon it and leaning her head against the wall again. She closed her eyes. She was going to go mad if this was maintained. Where was Gendry?

She was back in the hall of Winterfell but something was different. The banners hanging on the wall were Stark, but frayed and bloodied as though a great battle had just taken place. This was not a memory but something else, something new. The fire burned low in the grate and Dria approached it with a shaking hand. The mantle was marked with many lacerations as though it had been under attack. There was something wrong with the running wolves in the carving: two were cut to pieces, one had lost its head. Dria ran her fingers over them and she noticed her own fingers were bloodied and stained. She looked at them, her skin marked. She heard footsteps behind her and she turned to see the room suddenly filled with faceless people. She could not identify any of them as she walked through but they bowed their heads to her as she did. They each spoke to same two words over and over: “your grace”. She felt something heavy sit above her head but when she raised her hands to her hair there was nothing there but her usual plaited circlet. She looked up at the high table, frowning, to see Jon standing there. He looked older, wiser, and he wore a smile as he looked to her. She had longed to see that smile for almost three years.

Dria awoke with tears staining her cheeks. For the first time in a long time Dria had dreamt of what could be the future, or was it simply her own desires manifesting. She had been thinking of Winterfell, of Jon, and so she may have simply dreamt of her own thoughts. Why then had her head been heavy and why were faceless Lords calling her ‘your Grace’. She had never once desired to be anything more than what she was, so why now? She wiped the tears from her face. Already Jon’s face had faded from her vision as she sat forward. Her chest was tight and she felt butterflies in her stomach. She shook her head to banish him, deciding her dream couldn’t possibly be a vision and instead only existed to torture her. She had never had regular dreams and they had only ever fitted into the categories of memory or vision, but perhaps now that she was so alone with her thoughts they were possible. It only now dawned on her that her dreams had become significantly less frequent when she was with Gendry. Perhaps misery was the key to controlling when they occurred and she had had her fair share of it of late. She got to her feet and began to pace back and forth in the tiny cell like a bear in a cage, the same questions returning to her mind. But this time, as the ship rocked violently as though turning sharply and Dria stumbled into a wall, Dria suddenly remembered the tempestuous journey she and her mother had undertaken from Dauphin in a stolen merchant ship.

Her mother had been a beautiful woman in her own way. Plain of face but kind of heart, Romelda had been born in Kings Landing and had been the sister of a sailor. She spoke with a common accent and did not try to present herself as something she was not but Simeon Tawn had fallen in love with her immediately. They had married shortly after meeting and Romelda had become pregnant with Dria’s brother, Aleksander. Dria had been born eleven months later, and by the time she turned eight Aleksander had died. Simeon had been consumed with a grief that continued to eat away at him. Romelda failed to birth another child, although she could carry a baby fine it never reached full term. The constant knockbacks took their toll on Simeon. He became weaker, not as sharp in combat, and Dria’s uncle Jaison had taken advantage. One night Jaison rallied the men he had been drip-feeding faithlessness and they had attacked the House of Tawn, overthrowing Simeon. Civil war broke out and Romelda and Dria were forced to flee with the help of a merchant. Jaison’s allies were too strong and the ship was attacked before it could reach Westeros. Romelda had drowned in the storm and Dria had been washed ashore on the wreck to be found by Ned Stark three days later.

Dria frowned as she realised she had never given much thought to Romelda’s life before Dauphin. So busy had her own life at Winterfell and Kings Landing been that Dria had never once stopped to think that she might have an uncle somewhere in Westeros. It seemed too late for this revelation to carry any weight now. He was probably dead, anyway. She didn’t even know his name. She imagined once she must have known her mothers maiden name but had never thought it important to retain such information.

The ship jerked again and Dria recognised the sensation of dropping anchor. She clutched the wall as the ship was dragged to a halt. Now, perhaps, she might learn what the red priestess had in store for her. She sat slowly on the cot and waited for the sound of footsteps outside the door. Sure enough, as the sounds of disembarking could be heard above her, the footsteps approached and the door was unlocked. Dria dragged herself back to her feet and held out her wrists in preparation of being bound. She assumed it by now and expected nothing else. The door opened and the Baratheon guard stood there, though he shook his head at her wrists.

“No need, milady.” He said. “There’s nowhere to escape from here unless you can swim.”

Frowning, Dria let him lead her by the arm out of the cell and up the narrow steps to the deck. It wasn’t a large ship and it didn’t take them long to feel the air. It smelled salty and Dria was instantly reminded of home. She blinked in the bright light and it took her a second to realise that they were anchored off the coast of an island covered in dark sand. Dragonstone. She let the guard guide her to a waiting rowboat and she climbed into it. There was no sign of Gendry on the deck, but as the boat was lowered into the water with Dria and a handful of guards inside it Dria could just about make him out in one of the rowboats up ahead. He sat with the red priestess and he offered her a relieved smile as he saw her. He had been just as worried as she had. Just seeing him gave her strength and she felt more alive as they rowed towards the beach.

“Dria!” Gendry said happily as their boat made port on the sand. He made to hurry towards her but the red priestess put a hand on his chest. He frowned at the woman. Dria was to far away to do anything about it, but close enough to hear their words.

“You will have time to see her later, my lord. For now, you must meet the King.”

“The King?” Gendry asked as he exchanged a panicked look with Dria.

“King Stannis.” The red priestess corrected. “The one true King.” She gave Dria a glance and then looked back at Gendry before she began to walk towards the fortress. “We’ll see you to your chambers.” She said it in a way that made it clear they would not be left alone together. Gendry reluctantly followed the woman up the beach with a worried look at Dria.

“You mean I won’t be in a cell?” Dria called as her own personal guard escorted her up the sand.

“No, dear one, you will not.” The red priestess called without turning to Dria. Dria let herself be led into the fortress by the guard. Her mind was no less worried about their situation but she was at least comforted by the fact Gendry was alive and seemed healthy and happy enough. He seemed to feel the same for seeing her.

Dragonstone was enormous and empty on the inside. Dria was separated from Gendry and the red priestess almost immediately after stepping into the doors, led down endless winding corridors until she was deposited in a small room and left alone once more. Dria breathed out slowly, calming her mind, and then turned back to the door. She knew it would be locked but she tried the handle nonetheless. Locked, as feared. She sighed and turned back to the room. The room was decked out in red furnishings and gold filigree that had obviously been left dormant when the Targaryen’s vacated. A large window stood at one end overlooking the tumultuous waves of Blackwater Bay. There was nothing but water for miles. The guard had been right, there was no escape, and she was weaponless now that she had lost Jon’s dagger to a Lannsiter and left her pike with the Brotherhood. She hoped Arya might have use for it, though she would not know the significance. Dria resigned herself to being alone and familiarised herself with the room. It was dusty and smelled of damp. An ornate wardrobe stood open at one side, displaying an array of gowns within. Dria crossed to it and ran her hands over the fine materials. She wondered who they had once belonged to. They were reds and golds, royal colours. Dria turned away from them and her eyes fell on a bookshelf. Most of the titles were in High Valyrian but some were in the common tongue. She chose one of these and settled herself by the window for the long hours ahead. At least holding a book might quieten and distract her mind from whatever Stannis – _King_ as the woman had called him – wanted with her and with Gendry.

It was bitterly, bitterly cold: the kind of cold that cut through bone and froze the soul. Dria bundled down in her cloak but the wind cleaved through it with ease. She could barely see anything in front of her face the snow was so thick. She could feel sharp pain in her shoulder the likes of which she had not felt since she was stabbed in the stomach. It was too cold to look down and check. She was walking fast, almost running, but the snow was so thick around her that it was hard to move. She knew she needed to get there and fast, like she was being pursued. There was a great mass in front of her, looming up through the snow, dark and tall and stretching for as far as the eye could see. That was her destination.

Dria was woken by a soft knock on the door. She rubbed her head and swung her legs from the windowsill, picking up the book that had slid from her lap and placing it reverently on the sill. She paused for a moment to think about why she had dreamt of the Wall, before the knock came again and she got to her feet, folding her arms and frowning at the door.

“Who is it? There’s no point knocking, it’s locked.” She called out. There was a scuffle the other side of the door and then the sound of a key in the lock. Dria swallowed hard as the door swung open.

A man in his middle age entered, the door closing behind him. He wore a scruffy grey cloak and tabard that bore no sigils. He had a glove on his hand, a rough, unkempt beard and he smelled faintly of the sea. He had kind eyes though, and they sparkled as he smiled at her.

“Look at you.” He said awesomely.

Dria recoiled and frowned. He realised his action and cleared his throat.

“Forgive me, milady. My name is Davos Seaworth.” His accent was thick and resembled those she had heard in Fleabottom.

“What do you want with me, Davos?” Dria asked with a small shake of her head.

“I heard from King Stannis that you were here. It’s Dria, isn’t it?”

“Adria.” Dria corrected. She did not know this man and he had not earned the right to her shortened name.

“Forgive me.” He said again. He was looking at her in an almost fatherly way, deeply and full of pride. It was unnerving. “You look just like her.”

“Just like who?” Dria asked. Everything he said just caused more questions to erupt in her mind.

“Your mother.” Davos said breathlessly.

Dria reacted with a jerk of the head. “You knew my mother?” She asked, disconcerted.

“I’d say so.” Davos said with a small chuckle. “Romelda was my sister.”

Dria stared at him. Now that he had said it she could see her mother reflected in his eyes and the curve of his cheeks when he smiled. She shook her head incredulously. “That’s not possible.”

“She probably never told you that she was born in Fleabottom, aye? Why would she now that she was living as a Lady.” Davos sat himself down in a rickety chair and proceeded with his unnerving staring at Dria. She kept her arms folded. “We were inseparable, me and her. She would always come sailing with me were I to go on a long journey. Your father was kind enough to offer us shelter in his house during a storm. She never left.” His face turned sad. “I was most aggrieved to learn that she had died in the war.”

Dria shook her head disbelievingly. This couldn’t be happening.

“I knew she had a daughter. She would write to me often and I saw her occasionally if I ever sailed out that way, but I got caught up in this and that and before I knew it fourteen years had gone by and she was dead.” He smiled sadly at her. “She lives on in you, though. I can see it. Same dark hair, soft skin, I’m sure you’d have her smile.” His own smile faded. “It’s years since I ventured near Dauphin. I fear you would not recognised it.”

“Are you no longer a sailor?”

“I was a smuggler. Then Stannis gave me a way out.”

“Is that why I was brought here? Because of you?” Dria asked. She wanted to believe this man had her best intentions at heart but in this unknown world she couldn’t be so sure. Davos frowned.

“I doubt it. I’ve been in the cells until just now.”

“The cells? Why?”

“I disobeyed his grace.” Davos said with a chuckle. “The red woman had her say, but Stannis saw through it.” There was definitely a wariness of the red priestess in his voice. “It must be fate though, that you’re here.”

“So you don’t know why I’m here?” Dria asked as her heart sank.

Davos shook his head. “Not really. I know the red woman thinks you important. You and the boy.”

“Gendry?”

“Yes.” Davos noticed the excitement at which she had said his name. “Are you sweet on him?”

Dria blushed, unsure of how much to tell this man who was apparently her blood. She nodded. “But we were separated. I don’t even know where he is.”

Davos’ face flickered with an unknowable emotion. He got to his feet. “Would you like to see him?”

Dria looked at him, her eyes searching his desperately. “You could arrange that?”

“I’m sure I could, yes.” He gave her a smile again. “Have a little faith, Adria.” He turned to leave but Dria took a hesitant step after him. If this man truly was her uncle then he was the last remaining blood relative that she trusted. 

“Dria.” She said. He looked to her. “You were right the first time.”

“Dria.” Davos said with a smile. “I should like to know you better, niece.”

“And you, uncle.” Dria said. It felt nice to have family again after so long without it. He beamed at her and rapped on the door.

“The Gods are smiling on me on this day.” He said humbly. “I can tell you that doesn’t often happen.”

“Lets hope it lasts.” Dria said.

He nodded. Lets.”The door opened and he slipped through.

Dria’s head reeled. She pinched herself, unsure if she was still dreaming, but the pain that spread from her nails told her otherwise. She was very much awake. It seemed the Gods were smiling on her.

An hour later Davos returned. He knocked just as softly and told her he had convinced the guards stationed outside Gendry’s chambers to allow her an hour or two with him. She thanked him and Davos led her down dark, lamplit corridors so winding Dria would never remember the way on her own. Perhaps that was the idea. The guards let her through and she turned to thank Davos. He gave her a reassuring smile and told her he would return in two hours. Dria turned to the doors, suddenly nervous. She had been apart from Gendry for so long. Who knew what poison the red priestess had spilled into his ear in the meantime. Davos’ suspicion and distaste for the red priestess gave Dria hope that she was not simply being irrational: the woman was a legitimate concern. Dria drew herself up and knocked softly, suddenly not sure if Gendry even knew about this meeting. She was nervous, her palms were sweating.

“Yes?” Gendry called from inside. He didn’t sound any different and his voice was reassuring. Dria pushed the door open and entered.

His chamber was significantly bigger than hers, grander, although still decorated in the red and gold of the Targaryen dynasty. Gendry was standing by the window at the far end of the room. He had changed out of the leather jerkin he had been wearing since she had met him and now wore a dark shirt which was unfastened at his chest. Dria’s breath caught in her own chest as she looked at him. Whether it was the separation or the circumstance, she didn’t care. She loved him more in that moment than she ever had.

“Dria.” He said softly, turning to her. He looked at her for a second in her borrowed golden gown, before putting down the goblet he was holding and hurrying to her. With little effort he lifted her clean off the floor in his arms and spun her around, his lips connecting to hers in a kiss that brought butterflies to her stomach. He set her down and put his hands either side of her face, his thumbs stroking her cheek and lips as he looked at her. “I’ve missed you.”

“And I you.” She breathed, her hands clutching his arms as though she would never let go. He kissed her again and then took her hand, guiding her deeper into the room.

“Wine?” He asked, gesturing at the table. It was decked out with wines, cheeses, fruits, breads... the likes of which Dria had not seen since Kings Landing.

“Where’s all this from?” She asked incredulously as he poured her a goblet.

“Melisandre.” He said, then realised. “The red priestess.”

“Why?” Dria asked, jealousy rising in her all of a sudden. Gendry’s eyes widened as he handed her a goblet, his face resembling a child who had been given a new toy.

“I have the most amazing thing to tell you, Dria.” He said, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close to him. “Melisandre told me something that I never thought possible.”

“What?” Dria asked, jealousy rising once again at the mention of her name.

“The reason Stannis wants me here. You’ll never guess.”

“What is it?” Dria asked, nervous now.

“I know who my father is.” He said with a flourish. Dria’s eyes widened.

“Stannis?”

“No.” Gendry laughed. “Robert.”

Dria stared at him. It all made sense. Gendry’s strength, the reason she vaguely recognised him, his dark hair, those eyes... “You’re King Robert’s bastard?”

Gendry nodded. “Isn’t that just...” He kissed her in his excitement.

“You believe them?” Dria asked as he pulled away. She did not know why she was arguing it. It was clear just by looking at him.

“I do.” He said. His hands found her face again and he stroked her cheek once more. “King Robert is my father.”

Dria looked at him. She looked at him for a long while, her mind overplaying all possibilities. This felt like a trap but she could not work out how or why. Eventually, she simply smiled and her exterior softened.

“Gendry, I’m so happy for you.” She said sincerely, kissing him softly. 

“All I ever wanted was to know who my father was. Now I do.”

“So what does Stannis want?”

Gendry shrugged. “No idea.”

Dria frowned as she remembered something from Arya’s lessons. “Stannis has no sons. None of them lived past infancy.” She smiled. “Maybe he wants you for his heir.”

“Me? His heir?” Gendry frowned incredulously. “Then that would make me...”

“The next rightful King of Westeros.” Dria smiled widely at him. She had never felt happier for someone else in her life.

“But I’m a bastard?”

“Once Stannis is King he can legitimise you. Recognise you as not only Robert’s bastard but he’ll have the power to give you a title, land, make you his heir.” Dria giggled incredulously and kissed him again. “That’s what they want.”

“Me, King.” Gendry shook his head. “I don’t believe it.” He faltered, overwhelmed, and stumbled back into a chair. Dria smiled at him and knelt before him, her hand on his knee and the other on his cheek. She forced him to look into her eyes.

“A finer King there never will be.”

“Pull the other one.” Gendry said. “What do I know about running a kingdom?”

“What does anyone. Your father managed it. You have a good heart, you’re strong and people like you. The Seven Kingdoms will rally to your side. King Gendry, the strong.” Her expression was soft as she looked into his eyes.

Gendry looked back at her. Something about the way she was looking at him forced him to decide on something he had only ever considered. It was now or never. She had been through so much, not only with him but alone. He needed to show her how much he loved her, especially in this moment.

“A King needs a Queen.” He said. Dria’s smile faded as his expression intensified. He took her face once again in his strong hands. “Dria, I love you. I wouldn’t be where I am now without you. I never want to be anywhere without you. Will you be my Queen?”

Dria stared at him. “Gendry...” She stammered as he looked at her expectantly. “Are you asking me to marry you?”

“I know you maybe aren’t ready after... after Jon... but I don’t see myself ever loving anyone like I love you.”

The mention of Jon forced Dria to hesitate, but she thought about everything she and Gendry had been through. She shook her head incredulously. “I’m not qualified. A King must marry a Lady.”

“You are more a Lady than I am a King.” Gendry reminded her. “You’re my Lady, and I want no other woman by my side.”

Dria didn’t know what to do, what to think. She had been married before to the man she thought the love of her life. Marrying a bastard had not worked out well for her so far, but maybe this time would be different. Was she really going to let her fear of the past ruin her future? A smile spread slowly across Dria’s lips as she met his eye. Slowly, as though her body was acting beyond her control, she nodded. “Alright.” She said softly. “The moment you are legitimised, I will marry you.”

Gendry kissed her deeply, sliding off the chair to meet her on her knees on the ground. He pressed his body into hers, their arms entwining around each other. As the fire crackled quietly in the ornate firepit, they made love on the golden rug on the floor.


	15. Episode 3: Faithless and Godless (Pt. 5)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dria escapes Dragonstone and heads out on her own for the first time in her life.

“So, this Davos is your uncle?” Gendry asked softly.

“Apparently.” Dria shrugged slightly, wrapped up in his arms on the rug, a silk throw from the bed draped across their naked bodies.

“And you trust him?”

“I do.” Dria shook her head. “I can’t explain it. Just something in me must have recognised the bond of blood or something. I know that sounds mad.”

“No, it doesn’t.” He kissed her forehead. “Not to me.”

“It’s probably just me grasping onto any part of a family...”

“I of all people understand that.”

“I’m sure nothing will come of it. He probably can’t protect me anymore here than...”

“I will protect you.” Gendry interrupted. “If I am to be Stannis’ heir apparent I’m sure you will have immunity as my betrothed.”

Dria let out a small laugh, hardly believing it was so. She looked at him and smiled gratefully. “Thank you.”

There was a knock on the door and Davos’ voice hissed, “My lady?” through the wood. Dria sighed and got to her feet, stepping into her dress and beginning to pull it up. Gendry clambered up in front of her and put a hand on her arm. She frowned at him.

“One more look.” He said, his eyes sparkling. “Who knows when I’ll see you again.”

“Very soon I should hope.” Dria said. She shrugged Gendry off and laced up her dress. He reluctantly stepped into his trousers as Dria stepped past him. With a hasty kiss on the lips she gave him a reassuring smile. “Until then.”

“Until then, my queen.” Gendry said. She hurried to the door, their outstretched fingers lingering for a moment. As Dria greeted Davos and allowed him to escort her back to her own chambers she couldn’t help but smile at the evenings events.

“Good night?”

“Yes.” Dria replied. Davos was looking at her sideways in the dim light of his lantern.

“He makes you happy? The boy?”

“Very.” She faltered before relaying the actions of the night. Davos’ expression was worrying her and there was a torchlight approaching from the stairs. Davos took her arm and hurried Dria around the corner before they could see who it was.

“Best not be discovered, my lady, until we are sure of why they want you here.”

Dria’s smile faded as they entered her own chamber. His tone was urgent and unwelcome. “Is it not to do with my visions?” She asked, her happiness fading.

Davos looked troubled. It did not go unnoticed by Dria. “Davos?” Her voice was low, panicked again. “What is it?”

Davos shook his head and offered her a sad smile. “Nothing, dear one.”

“No. I’ve seen that look on the face of many men. Ned Stark bore it before he died. You know something. What?” Dria wasn’t sure she wanted to know if it was going to bring her pain, but she would rather know then be surprised. Davos sighed.

“You are as wilful as your mother, child.” 

“What is it?” She was losing patience.

“I mustn’t stay.” Davos said, and he took his leave before she could stop him. As the door slammed and was locked from the outside Dria hurried to it, banging her fists on the wood.

“Coward!” She shouted. She thumped the wood once more and turned into the room, trying to cling to what had made her time with Gendry so special. Already the feeling was lost, replaced with the familiar doubt that had plagued her for years. She wondered if she would ever be truly happy. She crossed to the Targaryen wardrobe and slipped out of the beautiful red gown she had borrowed, hanging it back up and instead donning a plain white gown with gold embroidery. It did not suit her to dress above her station. Even home on Dauphin she had always dressed in white and pale blue so as not to upset the common folk.

There was the sound of the door unlocking as she tied her long hair up into a complicated braid and fastened it with a clip from the long abandoned dresser. She turned as the door opened, prepared to see Davos and for him to tell her what he knew, but instead a tall, thin and haggard looking man entered. Dria gulped and looked at him carefully. He bore no uniform and the only clue as to his identity was a silver brooch fastening his cloak. It was in the shape of a stag. She gasped and curtseyed. He was not as mighty or strong as his brother had been but something in his eyes told her he was much more dangerous.

“Your grace.” She said as Stannis looked her up and down. He seemed impressed that she might recognise him with no prior introduction.

“Please.” Stannis waved a hand and Dria stood up again. He frowned at her as though unsure as to how to speak. “You look famished girl. Have they not fed you?”

“No, your grace.” She said truthfully. They had fed her in her cell on the ship but she had not touched it, and the only food she had eaten was a single grape fed to her by Gendry only an hour ago. Stannis frowned.

“That will not do. I will send for you to be fed properly.”

“Thank you, your grace.” Dria breathed. He was far more foreboding than Tywin Lannister had been. There was a hallowed sunken look in his eye that told her he had seen great loss.

“You were loyal?” He asked. “To the Starks?”

Dria blinked at him as he settled himself in the same chair Davos had sat upon. She wasn’t sure how to answer. “I... Yes. I owe my life to Lord Stark.”

“A refugee, yes?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“From Dauphin?”

“That’s right.” He seemed to only want a conversation.

“I visited Dauphin once when I was young. Your grandfather must have been head of House Tawn then. A horrifying man with a quick temper.” Dria did not comment. That was her grandfather alright. “Ser Davos tells me he knew your family well, that you are to be trusted.”

“I can always be trusted, your grace, when I know why I should be.” Dria said firmly. It was the bravest thing she had ever said. She cowered a little as Stannis turned his storm-fuelled eyes to her. He seemed almost impressed by her.

“Of course. It must be terrifying being so in the dark.” Stannis said leniently. Dria blinked again. “The Lady Melisandre has her ways. It appears she means to use you as some sort of oracle. She says your powers are quite strong. I had to see for myself what vessel they sat within.”

“Forgive me, your grace, but she has it wrong.”

“Oh?”

“I have powers in that I can see visions of the future in my dreams.”

“Then what is the problem?”

“The... the Lady Melisandre seems to think that I can control them. I can’t. I dream when I dream with no say in about what or who or when.” She was very aware that she was probably talking herself into trouble but if this man was to be King then she needed to be honest. From her experience men like Stannis valued honesty. Indeed his eyebrow twitched as though he was impressed. There was a long pause whilst Dria waited for him to speak. When he did it was with a shrug.

“We will see what Melisandre thinks.” Stannis said, getting to his feet. Dria swallowed hard.

“I’m sorry, my lord, if I’m not what you expected.” She said quietly. He frowned at her.

“Why would you think that?”

“I just mean... perhaps you expected someone like Lady Melisandre herself. Powerful.”

A shadow of a smile passed Stannis’ face. “What makes you think you are not powerful?”

Dria frowned.

“From what I have heard you single-handedly smuggled Ned Stark’s youngest daughter out of Kings Landing under the watchful eyes of the Lannister bitch. You have lived unsupported in the wilderness for almost two years and you survived Tywin Lannister. And you think you are not powerful?”

Dria was speechless. Was she really receiving a pep-talk from Stannis Baratheon.

“I tell you, young lady, from what I can see if my daughter is any bit like you when she grows up then I will never mind the fact I have no son.”

Dria was gobsmacked. Stannis bowed his head a little and made to leave, but Dria stepped forward. “Ned Stark spoke highly of you, my lord.” Stannis turned back to her. “He would have backed you.”

“It’s a shame his son will not back me.”

“I cannot speak for Robb Stark other than he carries his fathers strength but his mothers strong-will. He will not yield. To anyone.”

“Then he is a fool.”

“Perhaps.” Dria swallowed. “How old is your daughter, my lord?”

Stannis frowned at her. “13. You were in charge of Ned Starks youngest daughter, were you not?”

“I was, my lord.”

“Perhaps when all is said and done with the Lady Melisandre’s plots I might hire you to care for Shireen.” Stannis said.

“I would be honoured.” Dria said, once again astounded.

“Though you do seem to have lost the Stark girl.”

“Not lost. Not by choice.” Dria said firmly. Stannis nodded.

“I suppose that is Melisandre’s doing. I find it best not to argue with her. Especially where the boy is concerned.” Stannis sighed as though he were not entirely content. Dria frowned.

“Boy, my lord?”

“Your travelling companion. Gendry. My illegitimate nephew. Though I don’t suppose you knew that.” Dria blinked, unsure of what to say. Stannis was also not sure why he was telling this strange woman so much. He supposed there was something about her that screamed trustworthy, or simply because Ned Stark had trusted her so and Stannis had trusted Ned Stark. “It won’t matter soon anyway.”

Dria’s heart pounded. “Why, my lord?”

“There won’t be much left of him by the time Melisandre has finished. A shame. I should have liked him as my heir presumptive.”

Dria began to panic as Stannis turned to leave.

“My lord!” She cried, her voice shaking. “Do you mean the priestess means to k...kill Gendry?” Tears pricked her eyes.

“I have said too much.” Stannis said, bowing his head and taking his leave. Dria made a series of small noises but no cry came from her lips. She made to hurry forward, to bang on the door, shout, distract... anything.... but her legs buckled beneath her and she dropped to the stone floor. She pushed herself up on shaking arms and dragged her legs up with her. She crashed into the wood of the door, bruising her hip and ribs, and hammered her fists against the wood until they bled. Nobody would hear her. She sank down the door and crumpled on the floor, dragging her ragged nails down it in the hopes some guard would take pity on her. When none did she put her bloodied, shaking hands around her knees and held herself. She knew that it had all been too good to be true. Stannis was not the person he seemed. He was selfish, egotistical and he would never want a threat like Robert’s son hanging around. Whatever he said about the red priestess she knew she was simply a pawn in his plan, doing his bidding all along. Even now she imagined Gendry tied down and screaming for his life as they did unspeakable things to him. The rain lashed the windows as she sobbed, alone.

Dria had no clue how long she sat beside the door. Her fingers throbbed but she didn’t pay them heed. Everything in her body screamed at her to give up. Dria knew it must be punishment against her for breaking her promise and daring to be hopeful in this world of liars and false Kings.

There was the sound of keys in the lock and Dria dragged herself to her feet, though all fight was gone from her. She barely even looked up as Davos entered, a travelling cloak in his hands and his own cloak around his shoulders. His hair and face was wet as though he had been outside.

“Child.” Davos said kindly as he looked at her face. “What is it?”

“You knew.” She said flatly. “When you came to me before. You knew they were going to kill Gendry.” Davos’ face fell as he looked at her. He nodded slowly. “And you could do nothing?”

“I tried. Believe me, I tried. Stannis would not listen and there is no sense in bargaining with the witch.” Davos sounded urgent. “Melisandre spoke of power within you unlike any she is capable of. I think she means to sacrifice you to her Lord of Light and absorb your power into her.” Dria raised her eyes to finally look into his.

“I thought she was all powerful?” Dria said. Her voice was emotionless, all fight gone.

“No. Her power has limits. She can see snippets of visions but nothing like what you can.”

Dria shook her head at how idiotic she had been to believe a word any of these snakes had said.

“We have to go, child.” Davos said hastily. He draped the cloak around Dria’s shoulders and she frowned at him.

“Go? Where?” She asked.

“I could not do a thing for the boy and I’m sorry, but when I learned what they planned to do to you I couldn’t allow it.” He hurried around the room and bundled a few things into a sack, anything that resembled gold or could be used as a weapon. There wasn’t much, but what there was he thrust into her hand. “I have arranged for passage off the island with my crew back to Westeros. They will treat you well.” Dria stared at him, all fear fading as the adrenaline in her blood began to pump.

“Leave?” She asked dumbly.

“Unless you plan on her killing you like a lamb to the slaughter?” Davos raised a sceptical eyebrow.

“Perhaps it’s all I deserve.” Dria looked down at her bloodied hands.

“Why would you say that?”

“I’m cursed.” She blinked at him as though it were obvious. “Everyone I ever love or care about dies. Why should I go on living when they cannot?”

“That is utter nonsense. It is not down to you whether someone lives or dies. What about that girl?” Davos asked urgently. “The Stark girl.”

“Arya.” Dria whispered.

“She’s alive, isn’t she?”

Dria nodded slowly, praying that it was true.

“From what I gather most of the Stark brood are alive and kicking.” Davos said. He put a hand firmly on her arm. “The choices you make should not be defined by others. They should be defined by you and you alone.” Dria stared at him. “I could not protect my own son or my own sister, but I can protect you. Now come on.”

Dria nodded and Davos led her out into the empty corridor. There was no sign of the guards and Davos led her in the opposite direction to the way he had taken her to Gendry. This way was darker, narrower, and descended steeply underfoot. They must be going down under the castle. The Targaryen’s had been masters of survival until the moment they weren’t. It only made sense that their seat was fraught with secret passageways for quick and discreet exits.

The sea air was bitter on their faces as they eventually stepped out onto the unusual black sand. The night was dark and the stars barely shone above them as Davos led her along the stone wall to where a dark rowing boat was waiting. A man stood by it dressed in a travelling cloak. He held only a small candle for light which he quickly extinguished as they approached .The rain lashed down upon them as Davos turned to face Dria.

“I know it has only been brief,” He said hastily, “But you must know that you have brought me such joy in the last few hours. You have given me hope again. I am sorry that circumstances have come to these. Go, now, and my the Gods go with you.” Davos kissed her fingers warmly and smiled in the darkness.

“How can I thank you?” Dria asked, back to her senses now.

“Live.” Davos whispered. “Go North. Find the Starks. Or go home and take what is yours. Just live, my girl.” Dria nodded in promise. “This is Willum. He will care for you on my orders.” Davos nodded at the man.

“My lady.” Willum said, taking Dria’s hand and helping her into the boat. “No harm shall come to you on my watch.” He climbed in after her and, with one last look at Davos as he launched the boat from the sand, Dria and Willum set out onto the sea. The row boat rounded the stone wall and Dria lost sight of the shore, her thoughts in the bedchamber with which she had last seen Gendry. Hours ago she had been so happy. Now she felt only sorrow and emptiness. She was alone again. Willum seemed kind enough but he knew better than to talk as they rowed out to the small merchant ship waiting behind one of the large rocks. The shore was far behind them now and there was no going back. Dria felt overwhelmed and physically drained. As the boat reached the ship and Willum helped her up onto the deck she wanted nothing more than to collapse. The Captain acknowledged her with a nod and set about making sail as Willum led her to a small room with a bed. It wasn’t large but it was enough. He shut the door behind her and Dria crawled onto the bed, exhausted. Sobs racked her whole body as she cradled herself and thought of Gendry, of Arya, of Jon, of everyone she had lost. She had no direction now. No path to choose. The future was uncertain for the first time in her life and it terrified her.

As her sobs subsided and she laid on her back watching the lantern swing against the wall her thoughts turned to her dream. She had been back in Winterfell and she had been called queen. Perhaps that had been simply a wish. She saw no way of that happening now. Gendry was dead and they had been deceived. She only hoped it was quick. She thought about what his cold, dead body would look like and she had to quickly whirl herself off the bed to throw up out of the window and into the sea. It took her a moment to find her legs again as she clutched the sill, looking down into the icy depths below and wondering if she might not end it all now. The dawn was starting to break on the distant horizon and she wondered if by now Stannis or the witch would know she was missing. She wondered what they might think; whether they thought she was capable of escape of whether Davos would take the fall. She did not recognise any stars still lingering in the sky except Aeksio, shining as always big and bright above the horizon, pointing her way North. Her way home, to safety. Or was it? There was a war on. Who could she trust to not turn her over to Cersei, or Stannis, or rape her for having breasts, her kill her for allying herself to King Robb. Edeline would still be in Winterfell, and perhaps Lady Catelyn too. Dria fumbled under the neckline of her cloak and fingered the silver wolf Jon had gifted her, always hanging by her heart. North was the way to go no matter what might be waiting for her there. Perhaps Arya would have made it to Winterfell by the time she reached the North? 

Dria sighed and climbed back onto the bed. There was no sense in making plans until she knew whereabouts in Westeros the merchant vessel would make port. She could hear the men on deck scurrying about, shouting orders. She lay down and closed her eyes, exhaustion taking over.

A montage of gruesome images filled her mind: Cascades of fire, a man with a wolfs head and a spear through his chest, Arya being carried away by a gigantic dog, a fish out of water fighting for its life, Edeline Stark laid out in an X with her eyes wide and blood flowing from her mouth, a baby crying, and the howl of a wolf in the distance.

Dria was woken by the sound of a seagull outside the window. She sat upright, rubbing her eyes firmly to wipe the images from her mind. She prayed she had not just seen the downfall of the House of Stark, her last safe haven. The seagull called again. They must be near land for the gull to sound so close.

There was a knock on her door.

“My lady?” It was Willum. “We are nearing shore. Are you ready to disembark?”

“Yes.” Dria replied, her voice a rasp. She gathered the sack of belongings Davos had given her and tied it to her belt, opening the door and stepping out. Willum was waiting for her. In the daylight she could see that he was quite young with a scarred face and patched skin as though he had seen many battles. “Where are we?”

“Near White Harbour.” Willum replied. Dria blinked at him. The look of shock must have passed over her face because he then asked, “What is it?”

“Nothing.” She replied. She couldn’t tell him that she felt as though she had gone full circle. It was White Harbour where she had washed up five years ago, where Ned Stark had found her and taken her North. It felt like a sign. She allowed Willum to accompany her to the deck. The sun was high in the sky, meaning she had been asleep much longer than she anticipated. She assumed it would be the last sleep she would get for a while, and with dreams such as the one she had just had she was glad.

White Harbour was nothing special. The Lord and men were away fighting alongside Lord Robb and so most of the people milling around the dock were women and children. Dria bid farewell and thank you to Willum and the crew and allowed them to tell her where to find stables where she might purchase a horse. She felt for the sack around her waist and set off to the stables. The groom was a sickly man who was more than happy to sell her a horse for a Targaryen gold brooch, complete with the dragon sigil. He told her he would add it to his private collection and she went on her way. The horse was old and had seen better riding days but it would do for the two days ride ahead of her to Winterfell. She felt optimistic as to the ease of the purchase. She pulled her hood about her face, though she doubted she would be recognised, and began to ride North. The city was bigger than she could remember and it took her many hours to ride out of it at the horses slow gait. She didn’t mind. She was in no rush. Years in the South had led her to forget the sheer bitter cold that the North brought. She pulled her cloak about herself as she breeched the city walls and headed off towards the mountains in the distance, marking the true north. The grass was covered in frost and her breath blew out in front of her as she rode. Winter was coming, and it was coming fast. As she rode along the emptying path she looked to the sky as the sun began to set on the horizon and the stars once again broke the cloud barrier. She thought once again about Gendry and wondered what the witch would do with his body, burn it most likely. She felt sick again at the thought of living on without him. She thought of Jon in his frozen tomb, of Arya in the war-riddled South, of dear Sansa in the castle of the enemy. It seemed she did not need to be asleep to see such horrors as they played in front of her mind whilst waking. Tears fell from her eyes and threatened to freeze on her cheeks. She wiped them away and spurred the horse to keep going until she could find somewhere for them to rest. She couldn’t stop yet. She had come too far and was so close to Winterfell and to safety. Soon it would all be over. She would be home.


	16. Episode 4: The Strongest Bond (Pt. 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dria makes it to sanctuary in the North.

The North was vast and wide and the horse Dria had bartered quite easily. She stayed off the Kings Road so as not to run into anyone who may be an enemy, or anyone who may wish to rape a young woman travelling alone. The North was much bigger than she had ever dreamed. She struggled to navigate it. The last time she had done this trek from White Harbour to Winterfell she had not been alone. Ned Stark knew the North like no-one else, and so she had let the larger-than-life Northern Lord protect her as they journeyed it. When she had been a child they had passed South of Hornwood and so that was where she headed now. She knew at some point she would need to cross the White Knife river and she hoped it would be low and tame as the winter drew in. She had forgotten how cold it was in the North so long had she been a prisoner of the South. It had taken her months to get used to it when she had been brought here. She was coming near to exhaustion after over a day of constant riding and judging by the stumbling of her horse it wouldn’t be long until it collapsed. The moon was rising again and so when she came across a small inn in the middle of the vast stretch she knew they had to stop. She had skirted the Sheepshead hills on her left and was using them as guidance to find Hornwood. Perhaps somebody in the inn would be able to guide her back to the river.

The inn was small and looked to be run only by a few people. There was no sign of any other patrons as Dria dismounted outside of the stables. A young girl exited as she approached on foot, guiding her poor steed to the light of the torch hanging on the exterior wall. The girl gasped a little as she saw her and Dria felt a pang in her heart as she was reminded of Arya.

“Fear not.” She called out, holding up her hands. “I seek only a bed for the night and some food for my horse. This is an inn, no?” She offered the girl a small smile. Her accent must have soothed her because the girl nodded.

“I will fetch my father for the horse.” She said, but before she could a man exited the inn just ahead of them.

“Maud!” The man called. He was tall and well built like the Northern men should be. He wore an apron around his stocky stomach and he smiled at Dria. “Welcome traveller.” He said. “Do you wish to take a room for the night?”

“If it’s not too much trouble.” Dria replied as the man approached.

“Are you travelling alone?” He sounded concerned and, after so much heartache, Dria found it reassuring to see the kindness in his eyes.

“Yes, sir.” Dria said. “My husband...” She faltered and swallowed hard. “He died. I’m heading North to my...” She wasn’t sure what to say. “Mother. She’s the only family I have left. I can pay.” She added quickly as she realised she must look a fright.

“I’m sorry to hear it. I’ll tend to your horse.” The man said with a smile that reached those kind eyes. “Maud, take this lady inside and have your mother find her some food.” He took the rein of the horse.

“Yes papa.” The girl said. She took Dria’s arm and led her inside where Dria was instantly hit by the warmth from a fire in the grate. An equally kind looking woman with a rotund pregnant belly looked up as they entered and seemed surprised to have a patron. “Mama this woman would like a room.”

“Does she now?” The woman asked with a smile. She gestured for Dria to sit at the table and instantly there was a hot bowl of soup in front of her. “Travelling alone?”

“Yes. My husband passed away and I’m heading North to my mother.” Dria said. She was reluctant to tuck in but under the woman’s watchful gaze she couldn’t resist. The soup was very welcome after so long going hungry.

“Is it just for one night?” The woman asked.

“Yes.” Dria nodded. “I have a long journey remaining to me.” She looked around the inn. It was more a farmhouse than an inn, and had it not been for the sign outside the door Dria would have mistaken it.

“Do you have a name, child?” The woman asked.

“Yes.” Dria cleared her throat, “I’m sorry.” She hesitated, wondering if she would be known around these parts. She couldn’t see why she would be, but instead she gave the same name she had fed to Gendry when they had first met. She felt her heart throb as she remembered him. “Adrienne.” She replied with a small smile. Maud sat beside her on the bench and looked at her intently. Dria was once again reminded of Arya as she gave the girl a small smile.

“Well, Adrienne, this is Maud, I am Elspeth and my husband out there is Jarry.” She filled Dria’s bowl up again as she looked her up and down, taking in how her clothes hung so loosely on her. “We’ve not seen patrons for a long while, I can tell you.”

“Why is that?” Dria asked.

“The war.” Jarry entered behind and kissed his wife as he sat at the table. Elspeth pulled up a chair beside him and lowered herself slowly into the chair. Dria frowned a little at Jarry’s words.

“The war? It’s in the south, isn’t it?”

“It is.” Jarry said. “But it covers much of the width of the country and so nobody wants to venture North. Except for those going to the Wall, that is. But between the Dreadfort and Winterfell you’d be mad to attempt it otherwise.” He stopped, realising he could have offended her. “If you are not a supporter of the Boltons, that is.” He glanced anxiously at his wife, who gave him a flash of anger in her face.

“No.” Dria shook her head. “Not particularly.”

“The Starks?” Jarry asked. Dria swallowed hard and nodded. Jarry nodded along with her, content in her allegiance. Dria frowned. She understood why the Dreadfort should be avoided: it was the Bolton seat and they were not to be messed with. Robb’s wife Edeline was the kindest Bolton ever to be born. Her father and bastard brother did not share her personality. But why Winterfell should be avoided... She swallowed her mouthful and voiced the question that would only plague her if she didn’t.

“Why is that? Winterfell is a friend to travellers, is it not? The Starks would never turn their back on the weary.” She thought about her own plight and how kindly Ned had taken her in. She didn’t see his wife, daughter-in-law or sons doing any different in his memory.

Jarry and Elspeth stared at her. She began to panic that she had said something wrong. She did not like the look on their faces.

“When did you last venture North, Adrienne?” Elspeth asked. Dria did not welcome the tone in her voice. It was thick with terror and worry.

“Three years.” She said slowly. Elspeth and her husband exchanged looks, and then turned to their daughter.

“Maud. Run upstairs and light the fire in Adrienne’s room.” Elspeth ordered in a blatant banishing of her daughter. Maud frowned, not oblivious to her mother’s tone, but the look on Elspeth’s face caused her to nod and scuttle off up the rickety staircase. Elspeth waited until her daughter was out of earshot and then she leant closer to Dria. Dria could not swallow another mouthful in her aching stomach and pushed the bowl away. Elspeth spoke quietly. “Winterfell is no longer held by the Starks. It hasn’t been for over a year.”

“What!?” Dria could not hide the panic in her voice as she thought about Edeline, Bran and Rickon and where they could be.

“Theon Greyjoy sacked the keep. He killed Lady Edeline and the two Stark boys.” Jarry whispered, his hand on his wife’s shoulder comfortingly. Dria couldn’t hide the shock on her face. She felt physically sick and tears formed in her eyes. Jarry and Elspeth frowned at her. “You did not know?”

“No.” She covered her mouth. “Those poor boys.” She couldn’t believe that Theon would do such a thing. When she had been a servant of the Starks she would often speak with Theon, the only one who knew what it was like to be so far from home and in the same situation. He was always kind. He harboured an unhealthy love for Edeline but Dria never thought he would hurt her.

“What about Lady Catelyn? Lord Robb?” She asked, bewildered. This was too much to take in. Jarry could see how much this news was hurting her and he gave her a soft frown.

“You knew the Starks personally, didn’t you?”

Dria looked at him. She hadn’t the strength to lie or to hide her grief. She nodded. “I worked in the house.” She whispered.

“I’m sorry to tell you this...” Jarry glanced once more at his wife who closed her eyes. “But Lady Catelyn and Lord Robb were killed.”

Dria stared at him. She didn’t know how much else she could take.

“Word reached the North. Rumours. They were betrayed at the Twins by Lord Bolton.” Elspeth reached out in a motherly gesture and squeezed Dria’s hand. Dria did not withdraw. She felt numb. She couldn’t move. In the space of three minutes all those she considered family had been taken from her. All that remained was Sansa trapped in the Red Keep and...

“Arya.” She whispered aloud. It was not loud enough for Jarry or Elspeth to hear, for which Dria was grateful. “Lord Bolton killed Robb?” She asked.

Elspeth nodded. “And his wife.”

“Edeline?”

“His second wife. My brother wrote to me once. He was a soldier.” Elspeth suddenly sobbed and shook her head as Jarry went to comfort her.

“He married again?” Dria shook her head. She felt sick, dizzy and empty.

“There are rumours that his daughter is alive.” Elspeth said in an attempt to give her good news.

“She’s Bolton blood. Lord Bolton wouldn’t harm her. Especially not now he controls Winterfell and the North.”

“Some revenge.” Jarry muttered disbelievingly.

“He had a daughter?” Dria said more to herself. She couldn’t take anymore and it was clear from her face. She couldn’t hide her grief any longer and Jarry and Elspeth knew this.

“I’ll show you to your room, my lady.” Elspeth said as she got to her feet with Jarry’s helping hand on her back. Dria rose numbly to her feet and followed Elspeth up the stairs. “I feel we have upset you.” She said as she showed Dria into a small room with a bed and a small fire in the grate. “Hopefully you will be comfortable here.”

“Thank you.” Dria said quietly. She could say nothing else as Elspeth shut the door behind her and Dria was left alone. She sank onto the bed and felt tears roll down her cheeks as she thought about all she had just learned. She had been gone far too long. So much had happened whilst she had been living as an outlaw. All of her family devastated. Alone. She tried to keep her sobs quiet as she broke down but it was nearly impossible. Her grief was too strong and she had never felt more alone.

More than ever she wished she was with Arya and Sansa. She needed to know they were safe.

She was cold. Very cold. Colder than she had been in her whole life. She was looking out of a high window at the vast lengths of snowdrifts stretching out in front of her. She didn’t recognise the view, had never seen it before, and it stretched for as far as the eye could see. There was nothing except white. And black... she frowned, squinting. It was a horse and rider walking slowly towards where she stood. The rider was slumped, wearing all black with a mess of black hair matted about his face. He had an arrow embedded in his shoulder but he was alive, she could sense it. As the horse drew closer to where she stood she suddenly recognised the rider. Jon. It was Jon... she was at the Wall, and he was alive.

It was in the small hours of the morning that she woke with a start. She rolled off of the thick-fur-lined bed to throw up out of the window. It was all too much. She knew what she had to do. Winterfell, if it was indeed in the hands of Lord Bolton, was not safe. He had betrayed the Starks and he would not hesitate to have her raped and whipped. She had heard the stories of his bastard son and how he took pleasure in pain. She couldn’t go South. It was enormous and she would never find Arya in the wilderness, and there was no guarantee she would be alive if she did. If her dream was true then Jon was alive. She had been right to feel guilty all the times she had laid with Gendry and dreamt of a future with him. It was never meant to be. She was latching on to him as a way to overcome her grief, her confusion, but now she was seeing clearly for the first time in a long time.

There was a creak of floorboards outside her room and Dria remembered where she was. She crept to the door and opened it a crack. Already Elspeth and Jarry were awake downstairs and she could hear them speaking heatedly.

“What do you want to do?”

“You know who she is, Jarry. It’s her. The servant. The one who married the Stark bastard.”

“You listen to too many rumours.”

“Rumours carry truths. She knew them by name, Jarry. You heard her: Arya. She might know where Arya Stark is. Bolton wants her, and the girl upstairs is the key. He will pay us well.”

Dria gasped. It seemed everywhere she was to go there was traitors and liars.

“Do you hear yourself?” Jarry scolded Elspeth.

“You know what Bolton will do if he learns we had her and let her go. Do you want to see Maud flayed on a cross like...” She broke off in a sob and Dria realised she had come to a far more dangerous place than she had left three years ago. She closed the door again as quietly as she could and tried to think about what to do. This was not the time to be terrified of what might happen to her. Now was the time to act. She was strong, she knew how to fight and she was clever. Now was the time to prove that to all, including herself. Her eyes fell on the window and she hurried to it. It was not yet dawn so she had the cover of darkness to aid her. The drop didn’t look too big and there were ruts in the wall to help her. She gathered her strength and inched the window open, swinging her leg out and praying to every God that she wouldn’t fall. She was nimble and easily scurried down the wall, jumping the last few metres and landing softly in the mud. She listened for a moment in the pre-dawn silence. She could hear them still arguing inside the main room of the building. She inched around the back of the inn, stooped low to avoid detection, and jimmied the door to the stables. Her hands were shaking as she slipped inside. Her horse got to its feet as she entered, whinnying softly to its’ companion.

“Shh.” She urged them, putting a finger to her lips as though it might help. She breathed out a shaking breath and looked around for the saddle and reins. She hastened to dress the horse and then pulled it forward, another whinny from its companion breaking the silence. “Shh!” She urged again. “I’m sorry.” She whispered. Her eyes fell on a make-shift rake sticking out of the straw. She wrapped her fingers around it and pulled it out. It weighed about the same as a pike and she didn’t see why she couldn’t wield it as such. She was going to need protection where she was going. She mounted her horse and, sticking the rake into her saddle, pushed the horse onwards. It whinnied loudly as it burst out of the stables and the last thing she saw as she cantered away from the inn was Jarry and his treacherous wife hurrying out into the dawn to watch her ride away. If they sent word to the Boltons then she was screwed, but she hoped they would not seeing as they would not be paid for rumours. Dria tried to think straight as the cold dawn wind wrapped around her and beat the skin of her face, splitting her lip and hurting her eyes. The horse had rested well and moved fast now that they needed haste. She prayed to the Gods for mercy on her sin as she rode full-pelt across the countryside, her stomach hurting with hunger and her body aching with exhaustion and the cold. She hoped she had made the right decision in heading for the Wall.

They rode for several days until they reached the end of the Last River, only stopping twice to rest for a short while. As promised the roads were swarming with soldiers bearing the flayed man banner of House Bolton and so Dria had pushed on. The horse was beginning to tire again and darkness was gathering. Dria could feel her own eyelids drooping as she fought to stay alert. She pulled the horse to a halt, thinking that she should probably give it, her only companion, a name, and slid from the saddle on the bank of the Last River. They were in the shade of a willow tree, hidden from view, and she tied the horse to a log to keep it in place. She foraged for berries for her supper. She couldn’t risk lighting a fire to cook anything and the cold was eating at her bones, so she instead created a ditch of leaves and dirt amongst the trees roots, curling up within it for warmth. She held the rake in her hands as she did. Her thoughts for the last few days had been filled with hope at the promise of Jon, and guilt at the memory of Gendry. She was torn between her love for them both and, were they both stood before her, she did not know who she would choose. Jon had been her husband, but Gendry had been promised to be. They would have been happy even without the crown. But Gendry was definitely dead, and Jon may still be. Dria shivered at her own inner pain and the snowfall surrounding them. As she was falling asleep she found herself imagining that she was cradled by the phantom arms of Jon, much as he had done that night six years ago when they had made love for the first time. Tears slid down her face as she fell asleep and she realised she had never stopped loving him. She had pushed her love for him away so that she didn’t have to deal with the grief. The grief that she now felt for Gendry. Her love for him had been real, she knew that. As much as her love for Jon had been. She prayed that neither would enter her dreams tonight. Yet dream of them both she did. Memories of their bodies keeping her warm, first Gendry, then Jon.

She was awoken hours later by a crack. Sitting bolt upright it took Dria a few moments to realise she was alone. Entirely. Where was the horse? Lifting the rake as a weapon Dria got to her aching feet and surveyed the landscape through the willow leaves. She couldn’t see the horse through the trees, nor anyone else for that matter. Quietly, she let out a whistle to attract the horse. There was no response. Dria set off on foot through the trees stepping carefully in the hopes she would meet the horse grazing and that the rope had simply snapped.

She turned the corner around a group of trees and found herself face to face with two enormous men. She opened her mouth to scream but before she could let out a sound she was seized from behind by a third. He twisted her hand to make her drop the rake and she felt his hideous breath on her neck. They wore the banner of House Bolton. The other two men approached her and she realised one was guiding the horse. 

“What have we here?” Cooed one of the men, taking her face in his rough hand. He stank of ale, sweat and cum beneath his furs. “What would such a pretty maiden be doing all alone in the woods?”

“She’ll be freezing cold out here alone.” Another man said.

“We should help warm her up.” The man holding Dria hissed in her ear. She struggled against his grip to no prevail. The first man pressed his body against hers and took a deep breath.

“She smells like ...” The first man breathed in deeply again, “Fish... the way I like it.” He sneered. Dria reeled at his stench. She knew what was coming. “I want her first.” The man continued, his hand moving to his belt as he began to unbuckle it and he slammed her against a tree. Dria fought against her captor furiously. His hand moved to her mouth as he held her still, ready for the other man to take her roughly and without mercy. Dria took the opportunity, biting down as hard as she could on his fingers. She was not going to be a victim anymore. She tasted blood but did not let go until the man threw her roughly to the ground.

“Whore!” He spat, cradling his bloodstained fingers.

“She fights like a wildling, that one!” Another shouted.

“Let me tame her.” The first man snarled, roughly grabbing Dria by the hips and dragging her backwards. She thought furiously, trying to think of an escape. Then, inches from her right hand was the rake. Thinking only for a split second and acting wholly on impulse, Dria seized the shaft and span around, knocking it sideways into the face of the man who had unbuckled himself above her. She hit him so hard she heard his head crack as he fell to the ground. He cried out and writhed, bleeding from the head. His companions blustered around him, trying to stem the bleeding and giving Dria the opportunity to spin to her knees, threatening them.

“A girl and a stick?” The largest sneered. “You think you’re a match for me?”

“You wanna bet?” She panted. She was not going to be a victim. He lunged at her and she dug the spike of the rake into his neck. He cried out and stumbled backwards, bleeding to death on the ground beside his companion. Dria took the opportunity. She launched herself to her feet, seized her horse from the other man by hitting him with the end of the rake and mounted it to full gallop, riding away from her attackers but not before the third man lunged at her and caught her arm. He stumbled and fell to the ground but it was enough to make her drop the rake and for her to hear her shoulder crack. Pain like none she had ever felt surged through her collarbone as her shoulder dislocated and she fought to stay on the horse, clinging desperately to it with her knees as she cradled her arm. She let out a cry of pain as the horse galloped away from the woods and out into the open lands of the Gift. She wasn’t far now, she hoped to make it before the pain in her arm caused her to pass out. She glanced behind her, crying out as she did, to see the men run out of the woods and mount their own horses in the field just beyond the woods. She had killed one of them, and they would not rest until they had caught, raped and butchered her, or taken her to the Bolton’s for Lord Bolton to do just that. Her heart pounding and her collarbone throbbing, she raced across the open countryside, her attackers very close on her heels. Her horse was fast to begin with but she knew it would tire easily.

For half a day they pursued her. She felt physically sick from the pain in her shoulder and her vision was growing blurry. They were enjoying this pursuit like sport. Their shouts were still ringing behind her as she skirted a group of trees and found herself in a long ravaged and abandoned sheep field. Much grief had gone on her, and her horse faltered at the sight of it. There was nothing to see for a stretch around them. There was no way she could escape them on this horse, it was large and bulky and easily spotted. She tentatively forced the horse to trot forwards. The snow was gathering thick up here and her vision was blurring from the pain. Then, she saw it. Up ahead of her, a mile or so away, was the Wall towering tall and impressive against the morning sky. She breathed out, her breath gathering in a cloud in front of her. She had been alone for so long but she was so close now. Mid-gallop, she dismounted her horse with a scream of pain and slapped it on the rump, sending it in the opposite direction. Hopefully it would temporarily wrong-foot her pursuers, leaving her free to flee to the Wall on foot. She staggered to a tree and threw herself behind it, daring to peer out to watch them buy her ploy and follow her horse in the direction of Queenscrown. She felt guilty for sacrificing the horse but it left her free to stagger on. Giving it as much of a headstart as she could risk, she closed her eyes and caught her breath. It refused to tame in her lungs and she instead gasped for air. She could wait here no longer. She dragged herself dizzily to her feet, clutching her arm and fighting the pain, and ran full pelt towards the enormous ice structure. Exhaustion seemed a fleeting emotion as she fled for her life, adrenalin masking the pain. She had never needed to run far before. She and Jon used to race around the grounds of Winterfell but it was never true fear and always ended in them fucking under a tree. This was not like that. This could only end in two ways: death, either at the hands of her pursuers or the pain in her arm, or sanctuary within the Wall. She slowed as she could physically not maintain a run any longer. She was half a mile from the Wall now. It was so close, but her knees buckled beneath her and she crashed to the ground. She cried out in pain as it racked her whole body and she tried to crawl closer. Her strength left her entirely and she collapsed face down in the snow. As she drifted in and out of consciousness she heard horses approach and knew she must be nearing her end. She hoped she would pass out before they got hold of her.

“What is that?” She heard a distant voice call. Moments later she opened her eyes to see boots hit the snow and a horse stopped just beyond her. A man in a black cloak dropped beside her and she drifted out of consciousness again for a split second. “A woman. She’s injured.” She looked up at the man’s features. He had a round face and a patchy beard, but his eyes were kind. He was a brother of the Watch judging by his uniform, but he was large and round. “Can you hear me?” He asked. He looked up to his companion, “Her arm is dislocated. Help me with her.”

Dria felt herself lifted up and she moaned in pain as her arm throbbed. “Sanctuary.” She whispered, wincing in pain.

“We’ll get you somewhere safe.” He said kindly. “What’s your name?” She was lifted onto a cart, feeling sacks of food beneath her.

“Dria.” She breathed. This was no time for pretending, she didn’t have the energy. The man jerked his head, his dark beard blending with his soft, pink flesh as her vision failed her, crying out as though he recognised her.

Through fading ears she heard him said one thing in an urgent voice. “Jon.”

Then she passed out. What she couldn’t see through the darkness was Samwell Tarly’s ruddy features lighting up as he realised what a precious load he carried – she was the wife of his best friend and come hell or high water she would be treated correctly. He climbed back aboard the cart, his face determined. This was Lady Snow, and she needed him.


	17. Episode 4: The Strongest Bond (Pt. 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dria is reunited with an old love.

Flame licked the sky and Dria was surrounded by screaming, shouting and the unmistakeable sounds and smells of dying. Dria herself held a pike in her hands, so new it shone and it was perfectly moulded to her fingers as though it had been built for her. The point was black steel and sang under her control beautifully at the faceless attackers as she slashed at them. She had grown stronger, trained better, and she could feel it. But it made little difference. She stood in a courtyard and men in black surrounded her. They were under attack.

Dria’s eyes fluttered open and she gazed at the ceiling above her. All elements of her dream faded away. She felt groggy like she had been out of it for days. The ceiling was cold, grey stone, mottled as though it had been there one thousand years and had been frozen all that time. She felt numb – her entire body felt heavy and limp as though she had no control over it. Tentatively she moved her head a fraction to the left, testing her own mobility. To her surprise the movement came easily and she gazed upon the slit window now gracing her vision. She had seen that window before. It was cold, she realised, very cold, much colder than she had felt in a long time. It was the kind of cold that came with altitude, yet, for the life of her, she couldn’t think of where she was. Her vision was fuzzy, she realised, and it took a while to recognise shapes as objects. The wall was cold grey stone too. She listened, hoping her ears would tell-tale of her whereabouts. She could hear the faint sound of metal clanging as somebody somewhere practised weaponry. She could hear men’s voices: cheering, shouting, ordering. Dria looked to her right. The room she was in was small, more cold, grey stone on every wall. A fireplace was glowing in the far wall, but no other features graced the room save a small roughly hewn wooden cabinet by her bedside. Upon it sat a metal jug and a tankard, placed next to a small chunk of bread and a lit candle. The sight of the bread made her stomach ache and it was only then that she realised how hungry she was. Dria made to reach out her hand for the bread, though her movement was limited and she found herself crying out in pain that surged from her shoulder. Worrying that she was partially paralysed she peeled back the furs with her good left hand and saw that her arm was in a makeshift sling. She had dislocated it, she remembered, but how? Using her good hand, she stroked the cloth in confusion, trying to remember. She could remember sailing from Dragonstone and, her heart panged, Gendry, and all of the horrors she had learned in that inn about the Starks and the Boltons. But then what had happened?

A door clicked open somewhere near the fireplace. Looking over, she saw the silhouette of a round man dressed all in black. He entered the doorframe, smiled at her and shut the door behind him, walking over to the bed with as jolly a stride as he could manage in his cumbersome black leathers and furs. “Good morning.” He cooed, sitting beside her on what seemed to be a stool. “How are you feeling?” His face was kind, his smile stretching over his ruddy cheeks to his dark eyes. As she looked into those eyes it all came flooding back: the bandits, the ride for her life, the dislocated shoulder and the collapsing in the snow outside...

“This is Castle Black.” She said, her voice a sore rasp.

“It is indeed.” The man replied, a bounce in his voice which fell welcome on her ears. Dria tried to sit up, suddenly remembering everything about her journey from Dragonstone to here. She cried out in pain and flopped back on the pillows. Her head swam. The man place a soft hand on her left hand, calming her. “Take it easy.” He said, “You’ve been unconscious for many days. I should imagine your mind will need to catch up.”

Dria relaxed back on her pillows again. She realised she was warm in this bed. The pillows were soft, softer than she had felt since Kings Landing and a welcome feeling after her ordeal. She looked at the man, his warm, soft hand still on hers.

“What is your name?” She asked. She needed to find herself in the here and now.

“Sam.” Sam replied, “Samwell Tarly.” He continued. Dria opened her mouth to introduce herself. “I know who you are, of course.” Sam continued. Dria shut her mouth again, frowning. How could he know? She couldn’t remember telling him. Sam leant close to her. “You are the infamous Dria Tawn of Dauphin.” Dria’s eyes grew wide. She had spent so much of her adult life hiding her true name from anyone. How did he, of all people, know?

“How do you...?” She started.

“Gods, he never shut up about you.” Sam continued, a beam spreading across his face. “You and your turquoise eyes – just like the sea, he’d say – and your kind face and beautiful long hair.”

Dria’s mouth was dry. “Jon.” She rasped. Sam nodded.

He heard her struggle and kindly filled her tankard, lifting her head so that she could drink as he spoke. “He never shut up about you.” Sam repeated.

Dria swallowed the water, so refreshing on her dry mouth, and frowned at Sam. She wanted to ask him a question but she knew she might not like the answer. There was a pause and he waited patiently, reading the struggle on her face.

“Is he...” She had meant to say dead, but the tears in her eyes stopped her. Sam frowned at her, reading her face, and then broke into a smile.

“Alright?” He finished helpfully for her. Dria nodded minutely. Sam’s smile did not falter as he answered. “He’s been better, I’d say. Gave us quite a scare actually, been missing for quite a while. But he came back a day after you arrived, actually. Almost like he sensed you here.”

Dria stared at him as tears spurted from her eyes and threatened to freeze on her cheeks. “He’s alive?” She sobbed. Sam frowned at her reaction and gently wiped her eyes with his sleeve.

“Hey now. Last thing you want is icicles forming, believe me. Jon’s alive.”

Dria stared down at the bed as she fought to comprehend such a thought. She had spent the last two years believing him dead and all because of her stupid visions. Maybe they were not as reliable as she had believed.

Sam misread her tears. “It’s alright, I won’t tell anyone you’re his wife.”

Dria turned to look at him again. So many questions swam around her mind, too many to voice. Where had he been? Why had he scared them? What did Sam mean by missing quite a while, or that he’d been better. “His wife?” She managed out of it all.

“Yes. Sorry, I know I shouldn’t pry but he told me all about you. Your wedding in the Godswood at Winterfell, how his brother Robb oversaw it all and kept your secret, but then his sister Sansa betrayed you to Ned. How he has never stopped loving you even when he was banished here.”

Dria faltered, guilt rising in her stomach and tightening her lungs. “We’re not married anymore.”

“Oh?” Sam said, frowning.

“He took the Black.” She frowned, “Just like Lord Stark wanted. Jon’s oath to me was erased by his oath to the Watch.”

“Oh, I know that.” Sam said. Nothing could dispel his chipperness, “On paper you’re not married. But in the eyes of the Gods? I’ve done a lot of reading about the Old Gods and as far as they are concerned you’re still man and wife. Thinking about you has kept him going on the Wall, I can tell you.”

Dria felt sick again as she thought about her dream, the one where Jon had died and the one that had set her on a path of unfaithfulness. Perhaps, if it were still valid in the eyes of the Gods, that was why she had been met with such uncertainty. She felt conflicted again as she thought about Gendry. Aside from it all one thing was very prominent in her mind, wiping out all other thought. “Jon’s alive.” Dria whispered, her words leaving her lips on a single breath. Her chest was tight, her heart threatening to burst. All those months of mourning the death of her young husband and he had been alive all along. “Can I see him?” Dria blurted before she could stop herself. The joy she felt was welling up within her, threatening to spill out. After three years of being thousands of miles apart Jon was mere metres away. It was here Sam’s smile faltered and Dria realised what she had asked. “No.” She answered herself. “He is a brother of the Nights Watch now.”

Sam nodded sadly. “In the eyes of the Gods you may still be married, but having taken his vows and forsaken his previous life...” Dria hung her head in grief. Sam squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry. Believe me. All I want is for Jon to have a happy ending.”

“There is no such thing as a happy ending.” Dria sobbed, fresh tears rolling down her eyes and crashing onto the furs. Sam looked as though he might cry along with her.

“You have claimed sanctuary, my lady.” He said, “And as I brought you here, you are under my protection. Whatever dreadful events brought you to our gate, rest assured I will not let anything more happen to you.” Sam promised. He paused. “I will tell him you are alive and well when he wakes up.” He finished. “He will be most happy to find out...” Dria looked up at him.

“Wakes up?” She asked.

Sam faltered. “Yes, well, er...” He let go of her hand. “He arrived in a worse state than you did.”

“What happened to him?”

“We’re not sure exactly. We lost him North of the Wall and he somehow came in the South gate with an arrow in the back.” Dria’s hand flew to her mouth. “Don’t worry.” Sam said quickly. “Maester Aemon treated him immediately. He will recover.”

Dria nodded. She couldn’t bear to be so close and to lose him at the last hurdle. Sam took the opportunity to get to his feet.

“I shall return within the hour to bring you a meal. In the meantime get some rest, and I will let Maester Aemon know that you have woken. He’ll want to check your shoulder I’m sure. Was hard to get back in, I can tell you, all the swelling.” Sam said with a chuckle before exiting with a small nod and a flourish.

The door closed behind him and Dria was left with her conflicting thoughts. The man she loved was alive and well, somewhere only moments away from her. She was safe within these walls, at least from the Lannisters and rapers outside. She had made it alive from Dragonstone, if not complete. But she had left so much behind: Arya, Winterfell, Gendry and her love for him. There was no way she could let Sam find out about Gendry, else he might retract his protection of her and label her as the whore she felt she was. No. It wasn’t like that. She had thought Jon was dead, was convinced of it. It wasn’t being unfaithful. And she had loved Gendry. She did love Gendry. But she loved Jon, too. And being so close to him only reminded her as such. Dria looked towards the slitted window and settled down to her warring thoughts, sleep the last thing on her mind as she looked out at the murky Northern sky beyond.

Somewhere in the middle of the evening came a caw from the window. Looking up, Dria saw a raven perched on the ledge. Within its beak it carried a scroll. Rising from her bed, Dria wandered towards it, her arms outstretched and no longer hurting. She took the scroll and the raven flew away into the night. Beneath the window was Castle Black, alive with torches as men of the watch went about their nightly duties. The cold chilled her bones. Dria looked down at the scroll and unravelled it. On it were inked three words in a deathly font. “He is dying.” Dria gasped and dropped the scroll.

She awoke from her dream with a start that jolted her injured arm. It was dark in the room, the fire long since having died out. Maester Aemon had not visited her in the hours that had passed, but Sam had returned during the evening to reassure her that he would remain outside her door lest any unsavoury, she didn’t want to think about what that meant, characters dared to venture near. She knew that as soon as the men of the Watch learnt a woman was inside their walls they would descend like flies on a carcass. Dria thought about her dream and threw back the furs from her legs, suddenly boiling hot beneath them. She climbed out of bed, the stone floor cold on her bare feet. She was wearing the simple white gown she had spirited from Dragonstone and her long hair was hanging ragged about her shoulders, unkempt in its freedom. Picking up the low burning candle from the bedside table she padded across to the door. Pausing, the cold hitting her fevered bones, she returned to her bed and wrapped a fur around her shoulders, then returned. She placed a white hand on the handle and turned it, half expecting it to be locked. To her surprise it gave and she pulled at it, opening the door a touch.

“Sam.” She whispered. Sam appeared in the torchlight of the corridor.

“My lady. It is good to see you up. What can I do for you?” How he maintained such a level of optimism in such a bleak place was beyond Dria, but it was the last of her concerns at present.

Dria took a deep breath. “Please Sam. I have to see him.”

Sam’s face displayed a pained expression. Dria spoke quickly. “I know it’s forbidden.” She continued, looking appealingly into Sam’s eyes in the torchlight. “Please, only for a moment. I need to reassure myself that he is alive and...” Her eyes filled with tears again and Sam softened his shoulders. He glanced around him. He was alone in the corridor but it seemed as though he felt watched. He looked back at Dria.

“It’s against the rules, my lady.” 

“Please.” She was begging now, her voice low. “If he is injured, I have to see him. I need to know that he’ll be okay. Let me sit by his side. Let me tell him that I am alive. Let me gaze upon his face after so long away.” Dria pleaded. Something in her broken voice turned Samwell’s heart. He nodded, looking as though he instantly regretted it.

Nonetheless he stretched out a hand. “I will escort you to his chamber.” He promised. For the first time in a long time Dria trusted every word he said. She smiled gratefully at him and took his hand, shutting her door behind him and letting him lead her down the dark corridor. “I must be mad.” He whispered mostly to himself.

“I am so grateful.” Dria replied in an equally quiet whisper.

The halls of Castle Black were as grey and frozen as Dria’s chamber. Torches burnt low in the walls as Sam led her down the corridor and around the corner, up a flight of stairs and along another corridor. All the while he glanced about him as though he was about to lose his head. Dria stuck close to him, her small and fragile frame easily hidden by his bulk. It was impossible for her to remember the way and she was briefly reminded of Dragonstone. It seemed she was destined to be led down stone corridors by men who claimed she could trust them. She shook her head. No, she could trust Sam. She knew it in her heart. Eventually, after an age, they reached a door. The door seemed like every other in the castle, but Dria knew this one was special. Sam released her hand.

“A few moments. Just to say hello.” He said. “I will wait outside.”

Dria smiled at him. “Thank you.” She stood on tiptoe in her bare, frozen feet and kissed him on the cheek in her excitement. He blushed and smiled at her as she placed a hand on the handle. Suddenly she felt apprehensive. She hesitated. Would he be the same after so long? She had only seen him in her dreams: the good and the bad. So many dreams, warm, soft, passionate dreams of the bastard that she had wed... Had the years been kind? Would he be scarred and wounded beyond recognition after all of his exploits? He was injured... what did that injury look like? Would he smile in his sleep as he used to when she lay beside him?

“I remind you, my lady,” Samwell started, “He has not wakened since he took three arrows to the back.”

Dria’s heart stopped. Her dream seemed to be true after all. Was he indeed dying? Seeing her hesitation Sam reached out and turned the door handle for her. The door creaked open and Dria peered inside.

The chamber was the same as hers, cold and grey and lacking in emotion. The only difference was a wolf-headed long-sword resting beside the fireplace. There was no sign of Ghost, the direwolf who she had played with as a pup. She hoped he had made it through the years and was simply elsewhere. The room was dark. Sam gently pushed Dria inside and shut the door behind her. The only light was the small flame from her candle and the embers in the hearth. Her heart was in her chest and her breathing ragged as she looked to the bed. She walked slowly forwards on her frozen feet, scared of what she might see.

As the light from her small flame reached the bed she breathed out a ragged sigh of relief and hope returned to her. Lying amongst the furs and blankets was he, the same man Dria had married all those years ago before the world had changed around them and kept them apart. Only, this one was older. His features were more pronounced, his nose longer, his jaw stronger and his brow broader. Black hair grew from his chin and lips as well as wildly atop his head. Dria couldn’t help but smile. Robb had always teased him about being unable to grow a beard. Look at him now. He displayed two scars across his eyes as though attacked by some animal. His eyes were surrounded by dark circles and his skin was somewhat more pale. But he was still him. Jon. The man to whom Dria pledged her body, soul and life. And he was real. Not a dream or a vision. Real. She watched him breath slowly as she looked on, hardly daring to believe it.

Dria placed the candle on the bedside table and sat gently down on the bed. She watched as Jon’s chest rose and fell with each breath he took. She found tears in her eyes as she gazed at him. Her love for Gendry had been real, she knew that, but looking at Jon now she had little doubt that he was her one true love. The years had kept them apart but here, against all odds, they had found each other again. Reaching out with her one good hand shaking she lightly cupped his cheek. Her fingers were cold against his warm flesh. Tears fell freely from her eyes as she leant towards him so that she could whisper in his ear.

“It’s me, my love.” She whispered raggedly. “It’s Dria. I have come back to you.” Uncontrollably, Dria found herself placing a soft kiss upon Jon’s chapped lips. The cold weather and strain had taken its toll upon his once warm embrace. She sat upright again and swept her fingers across his forehead, brushing his long tousled hair out of his closed eyes. He showed no sign of waking. She didn’t know what she had expected. Sam had warned her he would not wake. She didn’t care. She just needed to look at him. “I’m sorry it took me so long.” She whispered, running her fingertips down his nose and over his lips. He made no response. She did not expect him to. And yet...

Dria felt a soft grip on her elbow. She looked at where his hand had moved to touch her. It was his hand alright. As she looked back at his face his eyelids flickered open and his dark eyes found her face. He frowned a little as thought trying to work out if she was his imagination. She smiled at him, a tear rolling down her cheek. 

“Dria.” He rasped in a disbelieving voice. Dria laughed uncontrollably with joy as he said her name. Her chest rose and fell with hard sobs as she found his fingers and clutched them. For a moment they simply looked at each other and a smile spread across his face, but something in his eyes made them stop. He could not seem to see her properly. “Am I dead?” He asked with a frown. He moved his hand, their fingers still entwined, to lightly touch the tears on her cheeks. His hand was warm and she tilted her head into it.

“No, my love. You are... so... _very_ alive.” Dria sobbed as she kissed his palm. His fingers found her hair and she stroked her own down his arm. 

“Gods be good. If I am dead, take this spectre from me so I may pass in peace.” He said, his face pained.

“Jon.” Dria whispered, her smile fading as she worried about why he could not see her. She leant close to him, his and sliding from her cheek as she moved close to his face. He blinked as he began to see her properly. She breathed softly beside his cheek, her breath gracing his ear as she whispered: “I, Adria, formerly of House Tawn of Dauphin, do swear my body, heart and soul to you, Jon Snow. I vow to stand by your side, as your wife, from this moment until my last. I shall lie with no other,” She faltered momentarily before continuing, “Pledge my body to no other, love no other.” She swallowed hard, but her words seemed to be working as he blinked at her face so close to his. She ran her fingers softly over the scars on his eyes and a tear ran down her chin and landed on his cheek. “I will be yours and only yours until the end of days. I swear this in the sight of the Old Gods.” She leant in to lightly to kiss his cheek, but before she could he turned his head and kissed her lips. His hand was on the back of her head holding her there as he embraced her. Her stomach flipped with happiness before he pulled away to look at her. He was seeing her now.

“Dria.” Jon repeated, his eyes flooding.

“Aeksio.” Dria sobbed. “I came back to you.” They kissed again, and again, until Jon winced in pain. Dria frowned at him. “You’re in pain?”

“Nothing I can’t handle.” He said, shifting himself up. He winced as she helped him the best she could with her one arm. As the furs fell away she saw that he was shirtless, his torso heavily bandaged. She ran her fingers over his skin, feeling all the scars. He stroked her cheek and neck, fingering the bandage on her shoulder as they took each other in after so long. He smiled as he looked upon her beautiful features: his wife, her rounded nose, turquoise eyes, moulded lips, pale complexion and curves. “Look at us both.” He said with a small smile. “What would my father say?”

“He would be proud.” Dria whispered. Jon nodded.

“I hope you have found it in your heart to forgive him.”

“Of course I have.” Dria said. “I forgave him a long time ago.”

“It backfired.” Jon said, “You came back to me.” He kissed her again, ignoring the pain, but then he frowned at her. “What are you doing here?”

“The world is not safe. It’s a long story.” Dria glanced at the door, knowing any minute now Sam would knock and tell her that her time was up. Jon followed her gaze and worked it out.

“Then tell it quickly.”

“The last few years have been brutal.” Dria said solemnly. “The journey I have been on brought me here, where I claimed sanctuary. I am under the protection of Samwell Tarly.”

“Sam is a good man.” Jon nodded. “He will keep you safe. The Gods shone down on you if he was the first brother that you met.” Dria smiled slightly at the truth in his words. Jon frowned. “What of my true family? My sisters?”

Dria shut her eyes, taking a moment. “Sansa is still in Kings Landing. As far as I know. When your father... when Joffrey... Arya and I fled with...” She let out a little amused sigh, “Yoren.”

“He meant to bring you here?” Jon frowned. Dria thought about her time with Yoren. It seemed so long ago now. She decided it was best to leave Gendry out of the story for now.

“Winterfell. He was going to take us to Winterfell. But... we were captured by Lannister men and taken to Harrenhal.” She was missing out a few details it seemed. “Arya befriended a man and he helped us escape.”

“You escaped Harrenhal?”

Dria nodded. “We made company with the Brotherhood without Banners. Beric Dondarrion.” Dria felt sick at simply mentioning the traitors name. She stopped herself from saying ‘we’ at the last moment. “I was taken, separated from Arya, by a woman in Stannis Baratheon’s employ. He means to usurp Joffrey.” Dria realised Jon may not know about his brother. She decided to leave that out for now. “I escaped Dragonstone where Stannis makes his base with the help of...” Her eyes lit up a little, “A man named Davos Seaworth. My uncle.”

“Uncle?” Jon seemed impressed. For as long as he had known Dria she had had no family save his own.

Dria nodded. “I headed North and after learning about...” She hesitated again, unsure once more of how much Jon knew. “I got lost.” She corrected herself. It pained her to lie to him but she did not want to be the one to bring him such sorrow, not as she had learned it. “I was attacked by bandits and fled to the Wall.” She gestured at her arm. Jon gently stroked her sling.

“You have had quite a time of it my love.” He said sadly. “I’m sorry that I could not protect you.”

“We had each other for the most part.” Dria felt guilty again as she thought about the times with Gendry and Arya. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t bring Arya here with me.”

“She is smart. It pleases me to know that she is alive. We were told she had died at Lannister hand when my father was killed.” Jon put a hand on her cheek. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

Dria looked at him sadly. “This must be the only time you see me.” She glanced at the door again. “If your brothers on the Wall find out I’m your wife I can guarantee they will not let me stay.”

“I will fight for you.”

She smiled at him and ran a hand up his arm. “You’re in no position to fight my love. Neither of us are. So, for now at least, we must do as we are told.” Her eyes sparkled a little. “For once.”

Jon laughed through his nose and nodded. “You are right of course.” He looked to the door. “Sam will watch out for you. He is a good man.”

“That he is. And loyal to you.” Dria stroked his cheek. Jon kissed her sadly.

“I am sad we cannot see more of each other.”

“Knowing I am alive should be enough.” She ran her thumb across his lips and he kissed it softly. “It is certainly enough for me seeing you as such.”

Jon nodded. He leaned close to her and kissed her gently on the lips, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close against him. She savoured the embrace, knowing it would be their last for a long time. There was a gently knock on the door.

“My lady?” Sam whispered from the other side.

“I must go.” Dria whispered, pressing her forehead against Jon’s.

“I will see you in my dreams, where my oath cannot keep us apart.” Jon whispered back.

Dria nodded, her face pained. “I shall meet you there.” She whispered. Jon moved forwards, planting one more passionate, romantic kiss upon her lips before she stood. “Shall I tell him you’re awake?”

“Leave it until the morning. I want to savour our last embrace for now.” Jon lay back on his pillows and gazed at her lovingly as she nodded and walked to the door. Before she opened it she turned back to him. He looked pale and sickly amongst the black furs and blood stained sheets but he gave her a brave smile through his tearstained cheeks.

They held each other’s eye contact for a brief moment before Dria lifted the latch and exited the room.

Sam did not ask her any questions as she shut the door again behind her. They walked in silence back to her chamber. Sam spoke only to bid her good night as she entered her room and she thanked him through a broken whisper. She waited until the door was closed and then leant against it, sobbing, as she slid down to the floor, her emotions pouring out of her uncontrollably.

Early the next morning, Dria was still curled up on the floor when Sam entering the room.

“Good morning.” He frowned at her as she awoke, her neck sore, and he helped her to her feet.

“Good morning.” She said groggily. He was holding a plate of bread and cheese and helped her wrap up inside her bed before handing it to her. She nibbled it hungrily as Sam watched. He waited until she was almost done before smiling widely at her.

“Jon’s awake.” He said, eventually. Dria looked up at him, an uncontrollable smile upon her lips. It was the most she had smiled in weeks.

“Is he well?” Dria asked.

“On the mend.” Sam replied. Dria smiled wider and took a sip of the flagon he handed her. Her smiled faded as Sam spoke.

“This complicates matters.” Sam said, his tone serious.

“How?” Dria asked, frowning at him.

“Well, you see...” Sam sat on the chair beside her bed. He seemed awkward in his response. “I’m sure you and he would want to...” He cleared his throat, “Rekindle things.” He blushed and Dria blushed along with him. “Only... the brothers of the nights watch make an oath...”

“Of which I am aware.” Dria interrupted, swallowing hard. “I would not jeopardise Jon’s life, nor be naive enough to think he would risk his own. I am a complication, yes, but I do not intend to be. And I don’t need to be. You can give me updates and tell him of mine. I needn’t even see him.” Sam did not seem to be buying her words. Dria finished her ale and put down the utensils, bracing herself. She swallowed her mouthful and watched the way Sam was avoiding her eye contact. She sighed, her heart heavy. “What is to be done?” Dria asked.

Sam glanced at her. “The commanders wish to speak with you.”

“Commanders?” Dria asked, her heart pounding again. She had claimed sanctuary. She was unaware of the specific Wall sanctuary laws, but in Kings Landing they were taken seriously.

“I’m sure it’s nothing. They don’t even know you and Jon are married.” Sam let out an awkward laugh, “Just a welcoming meeting.” Dria met his eyes. They spoke differently to his tongue. “I am to escort you.” He said, looking away from her and standing up. “I shall stand outside as you dress, and then I shall take you to them.” He sounded sheepish as he exited the room. Dria stood, her legs shaking. Her mind was filled with possibilities. She began to hum a tune to block them out as she pulled on her girdle, dress and cloak over her underdress. It was an old song, one she had not thought about in a long time, named _The First Wind of Winter._ She struggled as best she could to lace her boots on her frozen feet with her one good arm.

As soon as Sam opened the door to the great hall, Dria could see not only the three senior members of the Nights Watch, but most of the brothers of the nights watch sitting at the benches. Her heart faltered, catching in her throat. Jon was not amongst them. She supposed he was either banned, or too weak. Sam pushed her gently forwards and she stepped into the hall, feeling all eyes upon her.

“Stand in front of the table.” Sam whispered. Dria knew where the stand, but she thanked him with a small smile nonetheless. Dria walked to the centre of the room, ignoring the eyes burning into her, and turned to face the head table, the eyes of the onlookers burning into her back. Sam stood a few metres from her, his back straight and his face set. Somewhere in the rear of the room he made eye contact with Gilly, his wildling friend, who looked at him with fear. He smiled reassuringly but, as before, his smile did not reach his eyes. Sitting at the head table in the centre with a large flagon of ale in his hand was Alliser Thorne, acting Lord Commander of the Nights Watch. His ugly, scarred features peered down at her with a fixed look of distain, as if she were something rotten on the soul of his boot. Beside him on the left sat Maester Aemon, the kindly old Maester who had tended to Dria’s wounds. She was yet to meet him but he seemed kind. On his right sat Janos Slynt, who Dria recognised as the ex-Captain of the Kings Guard of Kings Landing. She avoided his eye contact instantly and looked at the stone steps before her.

There was an awkward silence while all three men stared at her.

“You need not fear us, child.” Maester Aemon said as though he was reading her mind through his blank unseeing eyes. Dria could not help but fear. “Step forth, my lady.”

“Please, my lord.” Dria whispered. “I am no Lady.”

“What brings you here?” Thorne barked, making Dria jump.

“I seek sanctuary.”

“Why here? Why not Winterfell or the Dreadfort?” Thorne asked. His words were met with chuckles all around.

“The Boltons do not extend the laws of sanctuary.” Dria replied with her face set. Aemon chuckled this time, hearing the bravery and distain in her voice.

“What makes you think we do here?” Slynt added.

“Because the Men of the Nights Watch are ancient and noble. You, above all others, adhere to the laws laid down by your predecessors.” Dria was pleased in this moment of her articulation. It seemed to be winning the crowd. Aemon smiled at her whilst Thorne and Slynt exchanged looks.

“Women are not welcome here.” Slynt snarled. Dria glanced behind her at Sam’s woman friend but said nothing.

“My gender means nothing. I am in need and so I seek sanctuary. You are bound by your oaths, are you not, to uphold it whether I am male or female.” There was silence in the room as she spoke with authority. Thorne’s nostrils flared.

“Your gender means something when all men in this room could, and would, rape you.”

“That says something more about them than me.” Dria said defiantly. “I can work hard if you will let me, earn my keep, but if I am to be a distraction to the men of the watch then I will keep to my chamber.” Her words hung in the air in silence for a moment. Dria waited, watching Thorne and Slynt, staring them down. Then, slowly and with a clanking of chains, Aemon got to his feet.

“The girl can stay.” He called.

“She is a threat...” Slynt started, but Aemon silence him.

“She is well-spoken and brave. That is more than I could say for half of the men of the Watch and she will be a good companion to have around. What is your name, child?”

Dria glanced at Sam, wondering if he was the only one who knew about Jon and her. He gave her a small reassuring smile. “Adria, my lord. Adria Tawn.”

“Adria.” Aemon said, and a flash of recognition passed his face. If he knew of Jon’s wife he said nothing. “You are welcome here. Under the protection of Samwell Tarly. Sam, see nothing happens to her.”

“I promise, Maester.” Sam hurried forwards to escort Dria back to her chamber. As the room cleared out Dria found herself face to face with Sam’s companion. “Dria, this is Gilly. She’s here under sanctuary too. Sort of.”

“Sort of?” Dria asked.

“She’s a wildling.” Sam shrugged. “They don’t get sanctuary.”

Dria looked Gilly up and down and then smiled at her. “Nice to meet you. It’ll be nice having another woman around.”

Gilly smiled warmly at her and Sam excused them to take Dria back to her room.

It was past midnight. Dria was still wide awake as she listened to the owls hooting in the woods. There were a few lights far in the distance of men patrolling the wall. After meeting Gilly, Sam had given her the tour of Castle Black and seen her properly fed. She could feel her stomach protruding beneath her fingers after eating more than she had in months in one sitting. She had been most intrigued by the weaponry in the stores. There were a few pikes that Sam said nobody ever used. Dria wondered if she might be permitted to use one. Sam had taken her to meet Maester Aemon properly and he had marvelled at her beauty through his blind eyes and released her sling, concluding she had movement in her arm as long as she was careful. He had found her a couple of books to read too from his own collection and Sam had returned her to her chamber. She sat in bed in the light of the small candle pouring over the tales they beheld. She hadn’t read for pleasure since Kings Landing. She was content for the first time in a long time. Yet still her thoughts threatened to return to Gendry and Arya and how she had betrayed them. The guilt was too real in her chest like a dagger that kept turning. She shut her eyes and focused on Jon.

There was a soft knock on the door. Dria jumped out of her skin, the last thing she had expected to hear. She opened her eyes and picked up the small butter knife leftover on her platter as she padded across the cold stone floor. She was getting used to being barefoot now and the fire was roaring in the grate, keeping her warm.

“Who is it?” She whispered through the door.

“Open the door.” A whispered replied. Dria gasped, recognising the voice instantly, and fumbled with the latch. The door opened minutely and Jon slipped inside, shutting it behind him and locking it.

“Jon.” Dria laughed incredulously through her hushed voice. “What...?”

“I had to see you.” He said, pulling her close to him. “I convinced Sam to keep guard outside my room. Our friend Pyp is outside this.” He ran his hands over her face and kissed her softly.

“Can you trust him?” She whispered.

“Pyp would never betray me.” Jon promised.

“You look so much stronger.” She marvelled at Jon’s colouring.

“I feel it, my love. It’s having you near.” Dria smiled at him. “Enough talking. I’ve been waiting three years for this.” Jon kissed her again and pushed her back against the wall. She gasped a little but it felt so nice to be embraced by him again that she didn’t argue. She knew it was dangerous, they both did, but there was no sense fighting it when he was already there and the act of betrayal was done. She ran her fingers through his hair as he kissed her, his hands running over her body and pulling her dress from her skin. They were both panting lightly, hungry for each other, as she tore his shirt from his body. He winced a little at the pain but ignored it, lying her down on the bed and tenderly kissing every inch of the body that he had dreamt about for three years. She had hardly changed. She was scarred a little more, it was true, and she was much thinner but she was still Dria and he still loved her. She let him ravish her, embracing the feeling of his lips on her skin. It was only as his tongue made contact between her legs that she gasped a little, realising that it felt different. Either it was because she had laid with another men or Jon had learnt some new tricks. She pushed it from her mind and let herself enjoy him, enjoy each other. His hands swept her breasts and held her hips in place as he brought all of those memories of stolen moments flooding back. Keeping their relationship a secret was what they were good at. They had spent three years doing this in secret. This would be no different.


	18. Episode 4: The Strongest Bond (Pt. 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dria makes allies at Castle Black.

Weeks passed at Castle Black. It had been over a month since she had fled Dragonstone. Jon was called before the council and was apprehended for his actions beyond the Wall, but he was permitted to keep his head and to stay on as a brother. Sam brought Dria regular updates as she did not wish to risk the Nights Watch getting wind of her relationship with Jon by demanding to see him. After their night together they had not been alone and had barely even seen each other across the courtyard or in the great hall. Sam stayed close by Dria’s side in case anyone got lonely and tried to take a piece of her to fulfil their long and empty hours. Sam couldn’t help but marvel at the fact he was the protector of not one but two women. He would never have believed it.

Dria settled down to life in the laundry alongside Gilly, Sam’s wildling friend. It was the first time Dria had met a wildling and she was nothing like the stories Dria had grown up amongst. Her baby, baby Sam, was permanently tied to her in a sling so as to keep him safe, and she would sing to him as they worked. Dria found herself drawn to the child. It had been a long time since she had been around young children and watching Gilly interact with young Sam made her miss the Stark boys and the family she had once known, and, it seemed, yearn for the family she could never have.

“He seems content.” Dria voiced one morning as Gilly finished her song and young Sam fell asleep against her bosom. Gilly started at Dria’s words but smiled and nodded.

“He’s a happy soul. Surprising, given his start in life.” Gilly started again as though she had said something wrong.

“Being North of the Wall. I imagine it’s...” She didn’t know how to describe what she meant without offending Gilly. Gilly seemed to grasp her meaning, however, as she nodded.

“More than you could imagine.” She said solemnly. “I thank the Gods every day that Sam helped us escape it.”

“And there’s really nothing there?” Dria asked in a hushed whisper as she watched Gilly’s expression at the mention of Sam. “With Sam?”

Gilly looked terrified as she shook her head. “No.”

“Gilly,” Dria put down her bundle and stepped closer to the Wildling. “We’re the only women in many miles. Sometimes it’s good to just talk to another woman, you know? Don’t you think the men talk about us all the time?” She dropped her voice to a whisper, craving the banterous conversations she had once had with Arya, “Don’t you think we should do the same?” She smiled at Gilly. Gilly smiled back and blushed a little.

“He’s the kindest man I’ve ever met.” She said coyly. Dria nodded.

“I can see that. And if he makes you happy then that’s that.”

“What about you?” Gilly asked as Dria moved away from her again. “Do you have anyone? Or did you have before you came here?”

Dria hesitated. “Both.” She said quietly. “I was married once.” She trailed off and Gilly picked up the sorrow in her face.

“Did he die?” Gilly asked. Dria swallowed hard and shook her head.

“It’s complicated.” She said. “He was taken from me. But he didn’t die.”

“Then surely there is a chance?” Gilly voiced optimistically. Dria looked at her and shook her head sadly.

“No. I don’t think there is.”

Gilly frowned at her. There was something in Dria’s face that she recognised, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. She didn’t know much, but she knew about women and there was... something. She was prevented from pinpointing it by the door opening and Sam entering. Gilly smiled at him.

“Sorry to interrupt.” He said as he looked over them both having their conversation. “Gilly, will you walk with me?”

“Of course.” Gilly said with a smile to Dria.

“Will you go to your chamber?” Sam asked.

Dria nodded. “After I hang this last load.”

Sam nodded back at her in satisfaction and left with Gilly and baby Sam. Dria watched them leave and sighed as she was once again left with her own thoughts. It seemed to happen often now. She missed conversation. Even Sam, when they spent time together, barely spoke of anything except Jon, and most of the time that hurt more than it helped. He meant well but he wasn’t great with social cues and didn’t always pick up on it when it made her sad to think of what Jon was doing mere metres away. Dria thought about it now as she pegged up sheets, remembering what it had felt like to have him touch her after so long. She had thought about their one night often in the days that had followed. The more she thought about it the more she came to realise he had kissed differently. She had put it down to having Gendry between but that did not sit right with her. Something was different about everything he had done to her body. He seemed more in command, like he had had more practice. Dria assumed he must have sneaked to Molestown in the time they had been apart. Maybe he had thought her dead too. This was the problem with them being kept apart: they hadn’t had chance to fill in the gaps of the last three years without each other. Dria sighed and left to make for her chambers.

Dria had barely alone with her books more than three hours when there was a soft knock on the door. It was different to that of Sam’s big fists. This was gentle. Dria put down her book and cleared her throat, frowning. “Who is it?” She called, reaching for the small knife Sam had smuggled her on Jon’s orders by means of protection. She felt a pang when she realised she had lost the knife Jon had gifted her to a Lannister in Harrenhal.

“Maester Aemon.” Aemon called through the wood. Dria frowned and hurried to the door, unlocking with the key and pulling the door ajar.

“Maester.” Dria said, bowing her head though the Maester could not see her with his milky eyes.

“My child.” Aemon said in his fragile voice, “I wish for you to attend me.”

“Attend?” Dria asked.

“You are learned, are you not? You can read and write?”

“Yes.”

“Samwell has needed to leave on an errand. You are under my protection in his absence, but he is also my steward and I find myself in need of the reading and writing of letters. Will you aide me?”

Dria blinked at him, surprised, and then nodded. “Of course.”

“Wonderful.” Maester Aemon stepped back so that she could step out of her chambers and shut the door. He held up his arm. “Will you walk with me, child? I managed to find my way to you but it did take me rather a while.”

Dria hooked her arm into Aemon’s and helped him walk back to the wing of the castle he called his own. He ambled slowly and Dria was glad of the company. Aemon appeared to be much wiser and internally stronger then the Maesters of both Winterfell and Kings Landing who Dria had previously been in the company of. Maester Pycelle had given her the creeps and Maester Luwin was kind but stern. Aemon seemed gentle and thoughtful, much like Dria herself. They made it to his chambers and she helped settle him in a chair by the fire. His chambers were not large, and almost every shelf and surface was covered with scrolls. The cawing of ravens could be heard from the rafters and the place smelled like incense and spices. It was a comforting place where little sound of the outside could be heard.

“Get yourself a pen, child.” Aemon said, gesturing at the desk. Dria did as she was bid and settled herself in the chair opposite Aemon, a hardboard on her knee to support the inkwell and parchments. For the best part of an hour she let herself be dictated by Aemon, writing endless letters from him to various Houses around Westeros. None were of any importance, although Dria kept her eyes and ears open for anything of significance. When Aemon was done he gestured for her to put down the scrolls. “You may send them on your way back to the chambers, if you wish.”

“Of course, my lord.” Dria said out of habit. Aemon chuckled and Dria frowned at him.

“I am no lord, child. Not anymore. I am a Maester and that is all the titles I require.”

“My apologies.” Dria said, mortified. Aemon shook his head.

“Do not worry yourself about it. It can get complicated with all these titles. Even on the Wall where all are supposedly equal.” Aemon shook his head. “The world has gone mad.” Dria smiled at him and let out a little laugh under her breath. Aemon inclined his head at her. “You have a beautiful smile.” He said. Dria frowned at him and he seemed to sense that too. “I suppose you are wondering how I know, a blind old man like me. You can be honest.”

Dria hesitated. “I was a little, yes.”

“When you have gone without sight for as long as I have, you learn to see in different ways. The sound of your laugh, for instance, tells me that your face lights up when you do so. Your voice tells me that you are a kind person, and if I listen hard I can hear your soft heart beating. But I hear sadness in you, and regret, and pain. I see you without having to see you.” Aemon said softly. “You are a beautiful person, Adria, inside and out.” Dria smiled at him and he smiled back. “And Jon Snow is lucky to have you.”

Dria’s smile faded. “Jon Snow?” She tried to keep her voice confident, knowing he was listening, but he just chuckled.

“Nothing goes beyond me here child.” Aemon said. “I know you were once his wife. I know that it pains you to be so close to him and yet unable to be his wife once more. You have had a difficult journey, child.”

“I’m sorry.” Dria suddenly found herself close to tears. “I’m not here because of Jon, not really. This is the last place I knew I could be safe. But I know how dangerous it is, what would happen if people... if Thorne... knew.” Aemon could hear the panic in his voice.

“You love him?”

“I’ve always loved him. It’s not a love that I can just stop.”

Aemon nodded. “Then I will keep your secret.”

Dria smiled gratefully at him. “Thank you.”

Aemon offered her a small smile and turned in his seat, pointing at a bookshelf just beyond where they sat. “Do you see a dusty red tome on that shelf?”

“Yes.”

“Fetch it, will you?”

Dria cleared her throat, dried her eyes and did as he asked, sitting back down with the heavy book in her hands. It had no title.

“Will you read me a little of it?” Aemon asked. “Samwell often reads to me.”

“Of course.” Dria nodded and opened the book. “Anywhere in particular?”

“Whichever story takes your fancy.” Aemon settled himself back in his chair and closed his eyes, waiting. Dria looked from him down at the book. She flicked through the pages until she came across a story that instantly interested her, one she had never seen before. The page held a colour-plate of a woman in armour, her silver hair flowing about her face. The title beneath read ‘Visenya Targaryen’. Dria had never seen a woman wear armour before. It was made of dragon-scale and fitted her beautifully. She blinked at turned the page. “In the age of dragons there was a woman named Visenya...” She began. Aemon smiled as though he had meant for her to read this story all along. It was the story of Aegon the Conqueror, but told from Visenya’s point of view, how she had fought by his side and loved him deeply and truly. It struck a chord in Dria’s heart like she had never experienced before. The woman suffered losses, loves and conquests and when Dria finished reading it aloud to Maester Aemon the old man had a smile on his lips and was looking at her knowingly. Dria snapped the book shut.

“Visenya was the strongest queen Westeros has ever known.” Aemon said with a nod. “Some would do well to follow her lead.”

“She certainly seems a powerful woman.” Dria stroked the cover of the book longingly. Aemon nodded again.

“That she does.” There was something in his voice that didn’t seem to fit with their conversation. Dria frowned at him, but he changed the subject before she could ask more questions. “Is there anything we can do to make your stay at Castle Black more comfortable, child?” He asked. “Aside from access to Jon, of course.”

“Of course.” Dria agreed, still stroking the book cover. She thought about Visenya and how strong she was. She suddenly had a thought. “I... I don’t suppose...” She didn’t know how to word it. “Where I come from, Maester, on Dauphin, women are trained as girls to use weapons. It is not the done thing in Westeros to have women as warriors, and I don’t pretend to be just that. But, I wondered if there was any way I could have access to them here?” She shook her head, correcting herself as his eyebrows raised, “Not swords or anything. And not to fight. But a quarterstaff, maybe, or a pike or spear? I am a woman surrounded by men who have been deprived. Very few of them are as kind as you or Sam.” She swallowed hard. “I have spent the last three years surrounded by those kind of men and have gone mostly undefended.” Aemon could hear the sorrow in her voice. “I do not wish to go undefended anymore. I wish to be prepared.” She clutched the book as though begging Visenya herself for strength. “I wouldn’t use the yard during hours when the men use it. I wouldn’t even use the yard at all but find a quiet space elsewhere. I do not wish to be taken by surprise any longer, that’s all.” Her voice tailed off as she realised how stupid she must sound, a little girl who dreamed of fighting after one story. Aemon shook his head and her heart momentarily sank, but he smiled again.

“I don’t see why you should not be allowed access on occasion.” He said with a nod. “I’ll see the Master at Arms is aware you are not to be challenged.” Dria let out an uncontrollable laugh of thanks. “And if Thorne or Slynt give you grief, you send them to me.”

“I will, Maester Aemon,” Dria said happily. “I will.” She looked down at the book. “There’s one other thing...” She said quietly.

“Name it.”

“May I borrow this book?”

Aemon smiled widely. “Take it for as long as you need.”

The quarterstaff she had been given was bent and bowed. It was the weapon rarely used by brothers of the watch who wanted steel in their hands and so it had gone neglected, but it sang under Dria’s control. The dusk was closing in around her as she stood outside the stables and she knew she should return to her chambers before anyone realised she was alone, but the rush she was getting from practicing again was outweighing all other thoughts. There was no practice targets in the stable yard and so she was forced to use her imagination, but after the years she had had there was no lack of enemies in her mind to face. Her breathing was centred and she felt content as she let her instinct take over. A quarterstaff was little different to a pike when it came down to it, just less pointy. She hoped the Master at Arms might permit her a pike in the future.

Her concentration flow was interrupted by a slow clap from behind. She wheeled around and pointed the staff in the direction of the noise just as Jon stepped out of the shadow. Everything about this moment paralleled their wedding night and they were both aware of it.

“You know I hate it when you sneak up on me.” Dria said breathlessly, panting from the rigorous training. Jon smiled and pushed himself off the wall against which he had been leaning. 

“But I’m so good at it.” Jon replied. Dria rolled her eyes and smiled, but her smile soon faded. 

“Jon. What if someone sees?” She said. It was uncomfortable how little had changed for their relationship in three years.

“No one will see.” Jon whispered. Nevertheless he kept his distance. He looked at the staff. “Where did you get that?”

“Special permission from Maester Aemon.” Dria said, stroking the shaft. “Why are you here?”

“I saw you sneak away from the armoury. Wanted to check you weren’t in trouble.”

“How kind.” Dria replied curtly, “You should go before someone sees you.”

“No one will see.” Jon repeated. “I needed to see you. It’s been driving me mad that I couldn’t.”

“It’s for the best.” Dria said sadly.

“Sometimes the best is not always right.” Jon said heavily. Dria gave him a small smile. He nodded at the staff. “When did you get so good?”

“What do you mean? I’ve always been good.” She looked proudly at the staff in her hand. “Do you not remember shortly after we met when I beat you.”

“That wasn’t a fair fight.”

“Because you were a year older and stronger than me. Yet I still beat you.” Dria laughed.

“I don’t remember that.” Jon lied blatantly, a twinkle in his eye.

“Liar.” Dria said. She met his eye and held his gaze for a moment before they both looked sadly away again.

“How are you settling in?”

“It’s lonelier than I thought.”

“It can be. Is Sam keeping you well?”

“Sam is so very kind.”

“Has anybody made an advance on you?”

“No.” Dria did not sound convinced.

“Is that why you’re practicing?”

“Yes. Apparently I’m not worth the whipping they’d get for raping me.”

“I remember the beating I took from you. They are best minded keeping away.”

“So you were lying.” Dria giggled. Jon rolled his eyes.

“You should get to your chambers before someone sees you alone, just in case. You may be quick with that staff but these men are professional rapists and murderers. Sam has taken Gilly to Molestown to keep her safe.” Dria swallowed hard, knowing he was right. She was sad about Gilly after only just getting to speak with her.

“Alright.” Dria said sadly, taking one last look at him. “Good night, Jon Snow.”

“Good night, Dria Tawn.” Jon gave her a small smile as she turned away from him and headed into the winding corridors of Castle Black. She did not look back as she walked the long way back to her chambers. It had taken everything she had not to kiss him goodnight as she had bid him farewell.

So lost in her thoughts about Jon was she that she didn’t hear the man behind her until he had grabbed her from behind, his hideous hands heading straight for her waist and breasts. On an instinct, the staff still in her hand, she knocked it backwards and caught the man about the knees, knocking him away from her enough to run further down the corridor. He pursued and pushed her against the wall, the staff between them. He tried to kiss her but she pulled up the end of the staff and knocked it into his head, rendering him unconscious and bringing him down with a crash. She brought the staff down hard on his chest, winding him with the force of it and then pinning him in place with the end. He was an ugly man with a scarred face and she knew exactly what he wanted to do to her. She was panting as she looked down at him.

“Dria!” Jon came hurrying down the corridor having been following her. He looked down at the man and then at her. “Are you alright?”

“Were you following me?”

“I...” Jon started, but Dria interrupted.

“I’m alright. I told you, I’ve always been good.”

They both looked down at the unconscious man.

“His name is Torrun. He will remember this.”

“Let him. Let him remember that he was beaten by a girl.”

“He will remember that, and come back with more friends to pin you down and finish the job when you are helpless.”

“Do you think so little of my abilities that I would allow that to happen. You have no idea what I’ve been through in the last three years Jon. Nobody will ever touch me again without my permission.”

Jon looked at her sadly, wondering what on earth had happened to cause her to think in such a way. He swallowed hard. “Please, Dria. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“And I won’t. Trust me Jon. I’m not leaving you again.” She stepped back from the unconscious man and closer to Jon. She ran her fingers up the leather of his chest and looked into his eyes. “I’m staying.”

Jon opened his mouth to argue but she kissed him lightly. He tensed for a moment but then committed to the embrace, his fingers in her hair. He pulled away to look at her, knowing now that she was not the same woman he had married. The years had changed them both. They had lived their own lives, had secrets, and it was only a matter of time until those secrets either broke them apart, or forged the strongest bond either of them had ever known.

“Alright.” He whispered. “Stay.”


	19. Episode 4: The Strongest Bond (Pt. 4)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon leads a party North to reclaim Crasters Keep and Dria insists on going with him. Truths come to the surface on the journey and old friends are found.

Dria carried the quarterstaff with her everywhere she went, along with the dagger Sam had given her. Word spread of her run-in with Torrun, but no other attacks came. Aemon kept his word and no-one learned about Jon and Dria’s past. It seemed the men were more scared of her then they had been of the Wildling Sam had brought in. Dria watched how Jon was treated from afar. It was clear that Thorne was jealous of the popularity Jon received and the skill he had with a sword as he trained new recruits. She couldn’t help but feel proud, even if it was only to herself. The more she watched the more she learned about the man she had married three years ago. He had grown into a man in the time they had been apart, a leader. After Dria and Jon had parted ways that night she had returned to her chamber and re-read the story of Visenya Targaryen, warrior queen. She felt inspired by every word and tried to think of how she could become like her. She had no noble blood, at least none that counted, and though she was trained with a pike and quarterstaff she would never have such luck with a sword. She did not desire to be queen, not really. She couldn’t imagine it being chosen for her. The part of Visenya’s story that struck a chord the most was her strength and resilience to fight for what she believed in. Dria could understand that.

The energy in Castle Black was darkening with each passing day. Wildlings had been seen in the south, and endless meetings were held by the brothers to decide what to do. Jon was an active voice in these meetings. Dria often could hear them shouting from her chambers. She was not permitted to be present, but Sam filled her in afterwards. He was worried about Gilly. Dria contented herself with watching from afar and learning where she could.

It was as she read Visenya’s story for the hundredth time one morning that a single horn blast echoed around the keep. Dria was dragged from the story and hurried from her chamber, taking the staff with her as she did. She kept back from the main courtyard in order to observe as two men were dragged in through the tunnel that led to the wild north. They looked bloodied and as though they had been chained. She did not recognise them, but it was clear from the worried expressions on Sam and Jon’s faces from the crowd below that they did. Dria listened as the men were questioned, speaking of ‘Crasters Keep’ and mutineers in the north. It was after the crowd dispersed that Sam invited her to join him as he sat with these two men and they ate food in the great hall.

Dria was rarely allowed in here, the room in which important decisions were made for the good of the watch. When she was allowed it was to serve Maester Aemon at the high table. Now she sat at a bench with Sam, Jon, Pyp and the two men who were introduced to her as Grenn and Edd.

“You’re pretty.” Edd said through his bloodied mouth. “What brings you to this hell hole of all places?”

“Nowhere else to go,” Dria said with a small shrug, “Much like everyone else. But my lack of a cock means I’m here to do laundry instead of defend.” She spoke plainly but the men chuckled.

“I like her.” Grenn said. Jon gave her a quick look before turning away. “Do you have a name?”

“Her name right now is not important.” Sam said quickly, and Dria realised Grenn and Edd must also know about Jon’s wife and would recognise her. She looked to Jon who gave her a minute shake of his head, indicating now was not the time. “What are we going to do about Craster’s Keep?” Sam changed the subject.

“What is it?” Dria asked, determined not to be shut out simply because she was a woman. Sam had brought her here for a reason and she didn’t think it was simply so she could get warm or spend a little extra time with Jon. Sam knew about the reading she had been doing during the day and the practicing she had been doing at night. They had held long discussions about women warriors of Westeros, or lack thereof, and she felt he saw her point of view.

“Craster was a Wildling who used to support the Watch.” Jon explained.

“Until Karl put a sword through his head.” Grenn said through a mouthful of bread.

“Karl?”

“He was a brother once.” Pyp said darkly. “Until he killed the Lord Commander.”

“Hence the mutiny.” Dria whispered with an understanding nod.

“She’s smart, too.” Grenn added admiringly. Jon glared at him before he could stop himself. Grenn didn’t notice.

“They’re holed up now in Crasters Keep with his food and his ale and his daughters.” Edd explained.

“Those poor women.” Sam said darkly. Dria frowned. “We need to ride north and free them.”

“Justice.” Pyp added.

“It’s not about justice.” Jon said. “I told the wildlings,” He hesitated as Dria frowned. This was one of the secrets they had not yet had chance to discuss. He ignored her and looked away, “That we had over a thousand men at Castle Black alone. Karl and the others know the truth as well as we do. How long do you think they’ll keep that information to themselves when the Wildlings attack?”

“They’ll crush us.” Grenn said.

“So crush them first.” Dria said as though it was obvious. The men stared at her as they tried to gauge if she was serious. Grenn and Edd started to laugh. Jon just gave her a look.

“It’s not that easy.” He said heavily.

“Why not?” Dria demanded. “If it’s for the good of the many...?”

“We need permission to go north.” Sam explained as the others sniggered.

“Whose permission?” Dria asked, glaring down the men who laughed.

“Thorne.” Sam replied.

“And he won’t give it.” Dria realised.

“Not if he thinks it’s what Jon wants.” Pyp added. Dria didn’t need that explaining. She had witnessed enough to know Thorne hated Jon with a passion. Jon frowned at Dria, trying to work out her angle. He realised they needed time alone so they could talk about their missing months properly and in depth. He pushed himself away from the table and got to his feet.

“I will speak to Thorne. He will not permit us, but it’s worth a try.” Jon said. He gave Dria another look before adding, “Sam, may I speak with you?”

“Of course.” Sam got loyally to his feet and walked a short while away with Jon. Dria noticed Grenn and Edd looking at her and turned her attention to them.

“Yes?” She asked as they looked away again.

“Nothing.” Grenn said, bravely. “Just wondering what a woman like you is doing here and not in some Lord’s castle as a trophy wife.”

“Find me a Lord worthy of my time and I’ll re-evaluate.” Dria said with a curt smile.

“I like her.” Grenn laughed to Edd, smiling at Dria. Dria smiled warmly back. These were friends of Jon’s and as far as she was concerned that meant they were alright.

“Dria.” Sam called. “I’ll walk you back to your chambers.” Dria sighed, her smile fading, as she got to her feet and did as she was told. It seemed that would forever be her default setting.

Dria stood alone in the laundry room when the door opened behind her. She reached for her staff but faltered as Jon slipped inside and shut the door again.

“You’re getting very bold at this.” Dria scolded.

“Shh.” Jon said. “I don’t have a lot of time. Grenn is covering for me.”

“Covering for you?”

Jon gave her a guilty expression. “I came clean to him about us. What used to be us.” He corrected.

“So he’ll stop flirting with me?”

“I doubt it.” Jon laughed slightly before frowning at her. She frowned back.

“Why are you here risking anything?”

“I’m going North.” He said darkly.

Dria blinked at him. “To Craster’s Keep?”

“Yes. I was granted permission by Thorne to take a few men. Volunteers only.” He stepped closer to her. “I came to say goodbye. Sam will stay with you.”

“What makes you think I’m staying?” Dria asked with a frown as though the answer was obvious.

Jon was dumbstruck by her blunt answer. “What do you mean? Of course you are. You can’t come north.”

“Why not?” Dria asked. “You are a contradiction Jon Snow. You don’t want me here where it is dangerous, and yet you won’t let me leave.”

“I’d rather have you here than in the north.”

“Why? You’d rather have me here surrounded by, as you put it, ‘professional rapists and murderers’, one of which has already made a play, then in the free north where I will be with you?” She put down the laundry in her arms. “With you, away from Thorne.” She met his eye and he understood her meaning instantly. A small guilty smile passed his lips. Dria cleared her throat and looked away. “Times are changing, Jon. I have changed already. Have you not noticed?” Jon blinked at her. He had noticed. She stepped closer to him after glancing around and tucked her hand into his cloak lapel. “I’m not some delicate flower you can keep at home for when you return. Since the death of your father I am a free woman. And you need volunteers. I’m coming with you and you can’t stop me. Neither can anyone else here.”

Jon stared at her. Right before his eyes the woman he used to know vanished, replaced by this new model. It scared him and turned him on all at once.

Seeing his silence as acceptance Dria stepped back away from him and picked up her staff. “When do we leave?”

Jon cleared his throat. “Within the hour.”

A look of understanding passed between them and then Jon turned and left the room. Dria breathed out slowly, wondering if she felt brave enough to leave. She didn’t feel completely safe here, it was true, but it was the most safe she had felt in a long time. And it would give her chance to be alone with Jon surrounded by only his most loyal, a chance to remember how it used to be.

The Free North was much wilder than Dria had expected. She didn’t know really what she had thought it would be: a mirror image of the north she knew, south of the wall. It was much older and stranger. Thorne had been more than happy to let ‘the solemn bitch’ leave north of the wall. They did not take horses so as to be less conspicuous. They told Dria it would be a two day walk to Craster’s Keep if they kept moving, and they would stop overnight once they found some woodland. Dria easily kept pace with the men and their long legs, encumbered were they by their crow cloaks and weapons. She was small and light, true, but she had spent the last two years living on the run and so was very strong. Dria had replaced her dress with a black shirt, her pellicle, a leather belt and pair of leather riding trousers found for her by Sam. She kept the cloak Davos had given her. Jon had hardly believed his eyes when she appeared with her quarterstaff in hand, her hair tied back from her face and looking more grown up than he had ever seen her. She took his breath away a little. Dria watched him walk up ahead as they made their way through the woods. They were all struggling with the snow. She felt Thorne had sanctioned this journey in the hopes it would get Jon out from under his feet. He walked at the head of the group of ten, alongside Grenn and Locke, the Bolton sell-sword who had recently taken his vows in order to join them. Dria didn’t trust him. Something about him was slimy. It was colder in the free north than the wall had been. She shivered in her cloak as she thought about all the things she still had to tell him. By now he knew Robb and Catelyn were dead, and that Roose Bolton had taken over Winterfell and the north. Maester Aemon had told him as soon as he was stronger. She still had to tell him about what she had been through. They had not been alone long enough to discuss it and it was eating her alive. Her heart panged as she thought about Gendry. He was long dead now. Two months had passed since she had fled Dragonstone. She often thought about what they would have done with his body, and she vowed to end the red woman if ever they met again.

Edd noticed her expression in the darkening light and took it for tiredness. He fell into step beside her and spoke quietly. “Are you alright?” He asked quietly. “We can stop if you want?”

Dria looked up at him. His expression was unreadable. She shook her head. “No. Not until Jon decides.”

“He’s lucky, you know. Having you back.”

Dria wasn’t sure she wanted marriage advice from Edd, but she allowed the conversation nonetheless. “Back?”

“All he’s done for two years is pine after his wife.” Edd said with a small shrug. “To be honest we were getting sick of it. Dria this, Dria that. We know pretty much everything about you to the point where we thought he’d made it up.”

Dria was flattered, disturbed and amused all at once. She chuckled. “No, I’m real.”

“Dreadful. How you were torn apart like that.”

“Yes.” Dria said flatly.

“But now you’re back and he can stop pining.”

“No he can’t.” Dria shook her head. “He has an oath.”

“You think that’s stopped men before?”

“Most men join the watch when their wife dies.” Dria shrugged. “I’m not planning on that happening anytime soon. And I’m not a whore he can pick up and drop when it suits.”

“I know that.” Edd frowned, “But having you near... he’s been happier. More focused. You’re his good luck charm.”

“I doubt that.” Dria said quietly.

“Shame really.”

“What is?”

“That you turned out to be his wife.” Dria smiled uncontrollably at him as he gave her a flirtatious wink. She shook her head and frowned as they noticed the group stop ahead. They were in the middle of a clump of trees and night was falling fast now.

“What’s happening?” Edd called.

“Make camp.” Jon ordered. “Get a fire going.” The men who had volunteered set about doing just that. “Edd, make sure Dria is safe.”

“Dria can make sure Dria is safe.” Dria reminded Jon with a stern expression. Jon looked appealingly at Edd, who held his hands up in surrender.

“You heard the woman.” He shrugged. Jon sighed at her but didn’t argue. He couldn’t afford to be worrying about her too, best to just accept she knew what she was doing. She helped gather firewood and then settled herself in the warmth of the flames, across from Jon and avoiding his eye as they listened to Grenn tell a story and cooked the rations they had brought with them. Jon’s eyes bore into Dria gradually as darkness fell entirely and the fire burned on. When Grenn was out of stories Edd began to sing, and Dria took her leave. She had chosen a particular nest of roots not far from the fire but out of the view of the men who slept around it. She was used to sleeping in the cold by now and so she nestled herself down. Sleep found her quickly.

She was awoken hours later by a twig cracking and she sat bolt upright with the dagger in her hand. The fire was low in the pit and so light was limited. She could make out a shape sneaking towards her and brandished the knife, but Jon’s strong hand closed around her wrist.

“Shh.” He urged, kneeling beside her in the snow.

“What are you doing?” Dria whispered.

“It’s my watch. Everyone else is asleep.” His fingers found her cheek and he kissed her softly. She lowered the knife and kissed him back, savouring the feeling after so long. “I needed to talk with you.”

“We can talk later.” Dria whispered, primal urges taking over her mind as she kissed him again. She lay back on the ground and he crawled on top of her, kissing as quietly as they could in the darkness. She felt his hands run over her breasts and closed her eyes, relishing his touch and the way his kiss felt. As his fingers slid inside her trousers she was reminded of Gendry and she suddenly felt guilty. Panicking, she pushed him backwards with a gasp. He frowned at her in the dark.

“What is it?” He asked as he watched her sit up.

“I have to tell you something.” She whispered, her voice tight. She felt sick.

“What is it?” Jon asked, stroking her cheek. She screwed her face up, suddenly terrified, and tried to centre her thoughts. She reached up to his hand on her cheek and clutched his fingers.

“About what happened after I Kings Landing.”

“What happened?” Jon frowned. “Dria... you can tell me another time?” He tried to kiss her again but she moved her lips away.

“No. I have to tell you now. Before we... before we can move forward.” She moved his hand from her cheek and held it in her lap, stroking his fingers. “Do you remember when I used to know about things before they happened?”

“Yes. You said it was dreams or something, I never believed you.”

“You should have believed me. My dreams always came true. At least, that’s what I thought.” She sobbed slightly as she felt the guilt writhe in her stomach.

“Dria?” Jon said, concerned.

“After Arya and I ran away from Kings Landing... we made friends with a man, a smith. He helped keep us safe. When we were taken to Harrenhal he was taken too.”

Jon’s frown deepened, his own guilt writhing in his own stomach. He swallowed hard.

“I had a dream. About you. About...” She sobbed again and clutched his fingers.

“About what, Dria? What about me?”

“You were dead.” She felt tears roll down her cheek. Jon stared at her. “I’ve never dreamt something that wasn’t true before. I thought...” Her voice broke. Jon moved closer and pulled her into his chest, holding her close.

“But I’m not.”

“No.” She clutched his jerkin, feeling his heart beat. “But I thought you were.”

Jon swallowed hard, knowing where this was going. She pushed away from him again and held herself tightly.

“My friend... the smith... he comforted me. I had been injured and he helped me through losing you.” She looked at him in the darkness as his eyes bore into her face. He knew what she meant. There was a long silence as the wind blew around them. An owl hooted somewhere in the canopy above.

“You... and he...?”

Dria nodded. “I’m so sorry Jon.” She spoke slowly, her voice low. “I would never have... if I had known you were alive.”

Jon looked at her. He looked at her for a long time.

“Where is he now?” He asked eventually, his voice monotonous. He knew he couldn’t get mad, not after what he had done, but he couldn’t help but feel hurt.

“Dead.” Dria sobbed.

“Dead?” Jon asked, a little sceptical.

“Truly. Stannis had him killed.” Dria sniffed, forcing herself composed.

Jon fought back tears himself, contorting his face until they vanished. Then, he nodded and slowly put his hand back onto her cheek. “That must have been hard. Losing us both.”

“But I haven’t.” She smiled sadly at him, “I was wrong.” She hesitated, then leant forward and put her head on his chest again. “Do you forgive me?” She asked through his leather.

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, feeling her warmth. He lightly kissed the top of his head and thought about his own betrayal. He had no excuse. He couldn’t hold it against her when he had done worse. “There is nothing to forgive.” He whispered, tilting her chin to look into her eyes. He leant down and kissed her softly. She kissed back, intensifying the kiss, feeling pure and honest once again. He shifted his legs so she could straddle his lap and before they knew it they were making love in the snow: cleansed. He would tell her. He would. Just not yet.

He waited until he was sure Dria was asleep in his arms and then he gently stroked the hair from her face and sighed heavily. “I have something to tell you too, my love.” He whispered. She didn’t react, breathing deeply. “I lay with a Wildling. Ygritte. I thought I loved her. I was wrong. But, I had no excuse. I simply betrayed you. And I’m so sorry.” He gently kissed Dria’s temple. She did not stir, though she had heard every word. A single tear seeped from beneath her eyelid as she kept her breathing steady.

By the time the morning rose there was no trace of him breaking his vows and they set off for another day walking to Crasters Keep. Dria kept pace with Jon and Grenn at the front of the group but said nothing of what she had heard Jon confess. Now was not the time to bring it up. They had to survive first.

The nerves only began to kick in as Jon announced they would be upon the keep within the hour. Dria had never been in a proper fight before, not like this. She suddenly felt undertrained despite her weeks of practice at Castle Black. Grenn and Edd had filled her in on Karl and Raste and the other deserters, that they were to be killed on sight. As they neared the encampment Jon halted the group and gave them all the plan. It was here that he informed them that his ulterior motive was to find his brother, Bran Stark. Dria stared at him. Until now she had believed Bran dead. Jon met her eye and gave her the smallest of reassuring nods. Dria smiled uncontrollably, hardly daring to believe it.

“Locke, you will find my brother. No harm is to come to him, you understand?”

“Of course, Snow.” Locke nodded.

“I will join you.” Dria announced before Jon could stop her. Under her breath she whispered to him, “I swore to protect the Starks.” Jon blinked at her but nodded again, this time giving permission.

Locke sneered. “As you wish, my lady.”

“Very well.” Jon said. “We are to take them back to the Wall with us. Grenn, Edd, you’re with me. We’re going to remind Karl what happens when you break an oath.” His mouth went dry as he spoke but Dria had the decency not to look at him. She was too busy thinking about Bran, and where Rickon might be. She had believed them both dead. Maybe nobody was really dead except for those deaths she had witnessed with her own eyes. Jon dismissed their grouping and they made their final stretch to the Keep. Darkness was creeping in once more and the adrenalin was pumping in Dria’s veins. She held her staff tightly to her as the Keep came into sight. Jon gestured for her and Locke to find their positions. He gave Dria a look and she returned it, silently reminding the other to come back safely.

Locke appeared at her elbow and gave her a wizened smile as they walked silently to their rendezvous. “Ready, my lady?” He asked.

“Not a lady.” Dria replied.

“You sure look like one.” Locke remarked. “And I’m sure fucking a Lord’s bastard qualifies.”

Dria’s head snapped to him and she frowned at him.

“Oh yes. I saw you two last night. I watched as our commander broke his vows.”

“He broke nothing.” Dria said, her mouth sour. She felt sick again. “He was my husband before he took his oath.”

“Ah,” Locke made a noise of realisation, “So you _are_ a Lady.”

“Concentrate.” She warned dangerously. “Or this will be your first and last raid beyond the Wall.”

He sniggered but did not comment further. Dria tried not to panic about what this meant for Jon. Now was not the time to worry about it.

Jon’s signal came almost immediately and all Hell broke loose.

Locke and Dria charged onto the men of the watch who had deserted. The place was in a state of disorientation and disarray, bones everywhere. Locke instantly went in for the kill, dropping a man, and Dria took no prisoners as she unleashed all of her practice. She was surprised to find it much easier on live subjects, and she was skilled. They dropped like flies around her, unconscious, for Locke to finish off. She swung her staff like she had done it her whole life.

“In there.” Locke called, gesturing at a barn. Dria nodded and they both made their way through the door.

The years had changed Bran Stark. Still crippled, he had grown into a young man. Dria could hardly believe her eyes as she saw him.

“Cavalry’s here boys,” Locke said, oblivious to Dria’s past. Bran looked at her, surprise over his face.

“Dria?”

“Brandon.” Dria replied quietly. Her chest tightened as she thought about all the times she had read to him as a child, watched him grow up. Now here he was, a thousand miles from home and three years later.

“Hodor.” Hodor said with a smile at her.

“Hi Hodor.” Dria said. She was pleased to see him too after all this time.

“Is Jon with you?” Bran asked.

“Yes.” Dria smiled at him. Bran smiled back, but was broken from it when, without warning, Locke snatched Dria’s staff and hit her hard around the face. Everything went black.

When Dria came round it was to the sound of sword-fighting and the smell of burning wood. She had lifted a shaking hand to her head and looked at the blood on her fingers before she remembered where she was and what was happening. She whirled around and looked about her. There was no sign of Bran or his companions. She pushed herself up and snatched up her staff, stumbling out of the barn, crashing into the wall as she did, in search of the treacherous Locke.

“Bran!” She shouted but the sound of murder drowned her out. She glanced at the fight and, knocking a traitor into Grenn’s path, she hurried off after the footprints in the snow that led away from the Keep. Shouting and screaming rang in her ears as she hurried away from it all. There was no sign of... she stopped as a body lay in the path up ahead. Hesitantly she approached it and rolled it over with the end of her staff. It was Locke, with his neck snapped. “Hodor.” Dria whispered. She looked around desperately. “Bran!” She shouted. No response. She didn’t know what to do. If he had gone further North then surely he was in danger. Jon would never forgive himself if anything happened. She would never forgive herself for letting it. At least he was not alone, and if Hodor was capable of this...

She stopped looking around as her eyes fell on a cage in the distance, a white shape moving within. It distracted her from worrying about Bran as she walked slowly towards it. A snarling came from within but she was not scared. The cage was partially open. She reached out, peering into the depths... and suddenly she felt breath on her hand. She went to pull it away, her resolve leaving her, but then she pulled the cage door all the way open. An enormous white shape rushed her, knocking her over, and she closed her eyes ready to meet her death. Then, it was gone. She looked around, dragging herself once more off the floor. Nothing. She could hear shouting from the Keep and began to walk back towards it when she heard a snap behind her. She turned around to see a man of the Watch standing behind her, a sword in his hand and a crazed look in his eye. He began to move towards her, sword raised, but before she could take defensive position the man cried out as a white shape jumped on top of him. Dria watched with her mouth open as it tore his head from his shoulders and the sword skittered away. The white creature turned to Dria and she gasped, her stomach tight as she expected to meet the same fate. The wolf came up to her, almost as tall as she, it’s teeth bared... but all it did was lick her face. She recoiled from the blood in its mouth but smiled as she reached out to stroke Ghost behind the ear.

“Hi boy.” She whispered incredulously. “So you remember me, huh?”

The direwolf whimpered and licked her hand.

“I know someone who’ll want to see you.” She had lost Bran but she had found Ghost. She kept her hand behind his ears as they turned and walked together back to the Keep.

The sound had died down by the time they made it. Grenn and Jon were stacking bodies, counting the dead, and Craster’s wives were gathered in a huddle. Ghost left Dria’s side as Jon turned to face them, hurrying forward to greet his master. Dria smiled as she watched the interaction.

“Where’ve you been?” Jon asked Ghost, scratching him under the chin. His eyes fell on Dria and the blood on her face. He got to his feet as Ghost rubbed against his leg, and Grenn discreetly turned away. “Are you alright?” Jon asked quietly, his hand moving to touch Dria’s head. She moved out of his reach.

“I am thanks to Ghost.” She said, a hint of sadness in her voice. “Bran’s gone, Jon. Locke... he betrayed you. Knocked me unconscious.”

“Where is Locke now?” Jon said darkly, just as Edd dragged Locke’s body into view. “What could do that?” Jon said incredulously as they looked at Locke’s neck.

“Hodor.” Dria said quietly so only Jon could hear. “They’ve gone further North.”

“But he’s alive?”

Dria nodded. She looked into his relieved face and felt he needed to know. “I know, Jon.”

“Know what?” Jon frowned at her.

“Ygritte.” Dria whispered, barely audible. Jon’s eyes widened. “I heard you.” She swallowed hard. “And I forgive you. We’re as bad as each other.” She couldn’t hold his eye contact anymore and instead looked down to where her hand disappeared in Ghost’s fur.

“No.” Jon whispered back. “I did it without an excuse. I simply did it because she was there.”

“You did it to survive.” Dria clenched her jaw and looked back at him. “We’ve all done things to survive. And once they’re done, we move on.” She thought back to Harrenhal and the things she had done to survive. Tears stung her eyes. Jon looked as though he might cry too.

“I love you.” He whispered so quietly it was barely more than his lips moving. Dria nodded.

“And I you.” She replied, before turning away from him and breaking the moment. It was done. The truth was out. Everything was said. And now, as she had declared, they would move on.


	20. Episode 4: The Strongest Bond (Pt. 5)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle for Castle Black brings about new dilemmas and surprises for Dria and Jon.

As time progressed Dria found herself more and more eaten alive by the thought of Jon and this Ygritte. Dria countered it by throwing herself into training. It had occurred to her north of the Wall that she was good with a spear or staff but useless at close range combat with a blade. The knife she possessed would be useless unless she learnt to wield it properly, or even better learn to use a sword. She began training alone with a sword stolen from the armoury. It was small, only a childs plaything, and so had been ignored by the men of the Watch in favour of larger more manly weapons. It suited her fine as she re-enacted what she could of the water dance Syrio had taught Arya. She couldn’t remember most of it. The stance was the same, but the sword was an extension of her arm rather than a separate entity as a spear or staff was. She found it difficult.

It was at dusk one day, as she was training with the sword, that Grenn approached and asked if she needed help. She initially declined but as he persisted she realised Jon must have sent him to help her. She accepted Grenn’s help with a sigh.

“He thinks I need babysitting.” She said as Grenn corrected her posture. “I don’t.”

“He doesn’t think that.” Grenn said kindly. “But he can’t do this himself so he sent the next best thing.” Grenn took up his own stance and barked the commands to begin. Dria did as she was told and found it much easier with a sparring partner. She was a quick learner and, for all his flaws, Grenn was a good teacher. He was probably going easy on her but she had him off-guard within the hour, her sword to his throat. “You’re a natural.” He said as he picked himself up.

“You’re a bad liar.” Dria sighed. “You let me beat you.”

“Maybe once or twice.” Grenn admitted as he began to pack away his own sword, “But that last one was all on you.”

Dria sighed as she sheathed her own sword. Her stomach rumbled a little as though reminding her it was there. She knew it was, the nerves bubbling in it and the thought of Jon had rendered her unable to think of much else. “Is Jon happy?” She shot at Grenn. He blinked at her.

“Happy?” He repeated. “Is anyone ever happy?”

“You know what I mean.” Dria asked. The concern on her face forced Grenn to drop his facade and sigh.

“He worries for you.”

“For me?”

“After what happened with Sam and Gilly and Molestown...”

“But Gilly’s alive?” Dria shook her head. She knew it for she had spoken with Gilly only this morning when she had returned.

“Wildlings are no mild threat, Dria.” Grenn said heavily. “Jon worries for the inevitable fight to come.”

“He wants me locked away like all other women during a battle.” Dria nodded. So that was the root of it.

“No.” Grenn said a little too quickly. He sighed. “He just wants you safe.”

“Will you take him a message from me?” Dria asked. Grenn nodded. “Tell him that in being here I am the safest I have been in years.”

“Is that all?” Grenn was angling for her to say something more profound but she shook her head.

“He knows the rest.” Dria said.

“Dria,” Grenn said and Dria got the impression he was about to overstep the mark. “Jon feels terrible about what he did with the Wildling girl.”

Dria rolled her eyes. Did ever fucker in this place know? “I know he does.” She said curtly. “But will you remind him we cannot move passed it if he continues to dwell on it? What’s done is done. There’s no use looking back.” Her stomach turned as she didn’t quite buy her own words. Grenn nodded.

“I’ll tell him.” He promised. “You’ve done well today.” He made to leave the courtyard and then turned back to her. “For what it’s worth, Dria, I think you are possibly the strongest woman I have ever met.” He left, his words ringing in the air. Dria smiled slightly as they settled on her skin but they instantly turned sour as doubt entered her mind.

“I wish.” She whispered, picking up the sword. She thought once again of Visenya, and of the threat hanging over them here at Castle Black. She could not make room in her mind for such trivial matters now. Jon was not her keeper and he could not stop her fighting in the coming battle. Castle Black was her home now, whether the brothers liked it or not, and so she would do her best to defend it against the imposing threat. She belted the sword and returned to her chambers, rising nausea in her stomach once again.

She lay on her bed and stared at the stone ceiling, her hands crossed over her stomach as she attempted to settle it. The wildling threat was coming whether they were ready or not. And with it Dria would be forced to face the woman Jon had betrayed her for. Dria was not a jealous creature. The very nature of her upbringing as the second child, her position with the Starks and everything else meant she had learned to be humble and grateful for what she had. But what she had was not a lot and when forces threatened to cleave it from her she felt she had no choice but to react. Dria thought about what she might say when faced with this Ygritte. She imagined what she might look like: unkempt, most likely. But she must be beautiful or Jon would not have fallen for her. She felt breathless all of a sudden like something was pressing on her lungs.

Dria thought about Gendry. It had been four months since she had last seen him. He would be nothing but bones now. Thinking about his remains made the nausea in her stomach worsen. She rolled out of bed and threw up in her chamber-pot, her head spinning from the movement. This was no state to be in when the wildlings came. She would have to do something about it...

A sudden thought struck her and as it did she had no idea how she had not thought it before. She clutched her swollen stomach and felt it lurch again.

The night of the attack came before anyone was ready. Dria’s training with Grenn had only happened a handful of times. She was confident and, as he said, a natural but she did not feel right. Still, as she stood in her chamber and listened to the preparations going on outside, she attached the sword to her belt nonetheless. She had argued with Jon that morning as he had begged her once more to leave. She reminded him that she had nowhere to go. Wildlings would be attacking from every angle so she was trapped her as much as they were. When he tried to suggest she hide in the kitchens with Gilly and baby Sam Dria had all but punched him. He had let it slide then, called away on preparations. He promised he would speak with her again. Dria wound the leather straps around her wrists on Grenn’s suggestion and left her chamber. She headed away from the sounds of the brothers and down the winding tunnel to the kitchens. She needed to say goodbye to Gilly, her one true friend, in case she would not get another chance. Gilly had been so kind to her and they had found comfort in each other over the past few days. She and the baby had survived the wildling attack on Molestown and it had only stiffened Dria’s resolve to go down fighting.

“Gilly?” Dria called out as she opened the door so she could avoid a carving knife to the head.

“Dria.” Gilly stepped into the light of the door and smiled.

“I’ve come to say farewell.” Dria slipped into the room. Gilly looked her up and down, taking in her weaponry and armour. Gilly’s brave smile faded as she looked at Dria. In that moment Dria knew that she knew her secret. Dria swallowed hard.

“Dria...” Gilly started but Dria shook her head. “You’re still going out there?”

“I have to.” Dria clenched her jaw. “I have to be beside him.” She spoke the truth. Gilly swallowed but then nodded.

“Take no shit.” Gilly said, pulling Dria in for a hug with baby Sam squashed between them.

“Stay alive.” Dria countered, looking between them both.

“You too.” Gilly said sternly. Dria nodded, giving Gilly and baby Sam one last look before turning to the door. As she opened it Gilly called after her, “Will you tell him?”

Dria faltered before looking back at her. She had no answer, and so she simply left the room.

Dria wandered the halls aimlessly as she racked her brains for what to do for the best. She could hear the preparations intensifying as the night drew closer. As she watched the younger boys carry arrows into the lift up to the top Dria realised she probably would have no other chance. She broke into a run as she crossed the courtyard, grabbing Edd’s arm before he could climb into the lift.

“Jon?” She asked breathlessly.

Edd looked her up and down with a frown before nodding to the armoury. “In there.” He said.

“Thank you.” Dria made to turn away but Edd caught her arm.

“You mean to fight, then?”

“You need every last sword.” Dria said.

“You’ve got guts, kid.” Edd said admiringly as the lift slammed shut.

“Let’s hope I still have them come morning.” Dria smiled but her eyes did not agree. Edd nodded solemnly as the lift began to rise. Dria turned to the armoury and hurried to it, no longer caring who saw her pursue Jon.

He was inside the armoury alright, sharpening Longclaw with a dark look in his eyes. All other weapons had been cleared out. He was alone, and looked up as the door opened. Dria shut it behind her and crossed the room quickly. He silenced the whetstone and got to his feet as she threw her arms around his head and kissed him deeply. He held her as they embraced.

“Someone might see.” Jon said cautiously.

“Like it matters now.” Dria replied with a shake of her head. Jon ran his fingers down her hair so a strand was caught between.

“Dria, I’m sorry.”

“I know.” Dria said with a small smile, “I forgive you. I promise.” She kissed him softly again as though she could not bear to stop.

“I wish you...” He started but Dria interrupted.

“Let’s not argue now. There is nothing to be done. Those who do not wield a blade can still die upon them.” She said. Jon frowned at her but found he could not argue. He kissed her again. Her hands found his cheeks and she looked into his eyes. There was silence for a moment as they looked upon each other, and then she whispered slowly, savouring each word as though it were the first time she had spoken them, “Until the end of days.” She said solemnly as her eyes sparked with tears and darted between his.

“This moment until my last.” Jon replied, kissing her again. This kiss was deeper than all of the others and carried all the years of their torment and love along with it. Dria pulled away and breathed out. She looked as though she were struggling with a thought. “My love?” Jon said cautiously. “What is it?”

“Jon,” She was breathless as though the words could not spill from her lips fast enough, “I need to tell you something.”

“Anything.” He spoke in a hushed tone. Dria faltered. She knew she must tell him but something was staying her tongue.

Then the blast came from atop the wall. And another.

“Wildlings.” They said in unison.

“I must go.” Jon said. He ran his hand over her cheek and took one last look. “Tell me quick.”

Dria faltered again. Even now she could not say. She could not break his heart so.

“I love you.” She said. It wasn’t what she wanted to say but it would suffice.

“And I you.” Jon replied, “Come back to me when all is done.”

“I promise.”

He kissed her one last time before hurrying from the room and leaving her alone.

Dria let out a shaky breath. She had been a coward in that moment. She could not afford to be a coward anymore.

The shouting outside intensified, the clanking of armour and swords magnified in response to the call. Dria breathed out slowly through her lips. She centred herself, her eyes closed. Now was the time for focus and courage. Fear had no place, nor did worry, jealousy or vice. Her eyes snapped open and fell upon a spear on the far wall. It was the last remaining weapon and looked just like that of her dream. Like it was made for her. Dria crossed to it and took it in her hands. It fit like a glove. Not too heavy, with a good balance and weighting. She swished it a few times to ensure they worked well and then, as the shouting grew louder still, left the armoury.

The battle was bloody. Before they knew what had happened the wildlings were breaching the gates from the South. Dria had not been given a faction as she was not a brother and Thorne could not care less if she lived or died. She had chosen to put herself by the west wall of the south gate. It was not too far from where Sam and Pyp watched the main gate and was where Thorne had sent the new recruits, the ones who had been brought in weeks earlier in preparation. They were weak and snivelling with fear, shaking in their borrowed armour. It was a small space with only one way in or out, a narrow path that was easily barricaded but proved not much use for defence. It was where Thorne sent the ones he didn’t think were good enough to make it. Dria saw it as a chance to prove herself. She stood before the terrified men, taken up the stance and with her new spear in her hand and her sword in the other. If she was going to die she was going to go down fighting. Her hair was plaited and over her shoulder and her face was set. The sounds from the wall above told them war had begun and it would not be long now until it was upon them all. Sure enough, it was as the Thenns and the wildlings who had sacked Molestown began to breach the main gate that these new boys began to run for their lives. They were taller than Dria for the most part and stronger, but without thinking she put her spear across the narrow path that allowed them exit. The one nearest to her stared at her in disbelief and brandished his shaking sword at her.

“Let us through.” He ordered. “We cannot hold the gate.”

“Cannot or will not?” Dria demanded. The sword point was close to her stomach but he was shaking to much to drive it through.

“What do you know of it?” Another demanded, glancing over his shoulder at the cries of defeat coming from the main gate not far away.

“You’re just a woman.” Another said.

“Just?” Dria shook her head. “Do you think they’ll give a shit about my gender or yours when they are skinning us alive to use as leather for their armour?” The men looked to each other and then to hers. “Do you think they care if you’ve got tits or a cock when they’re using your bones to pick their teeth?” She looked into each and every one of their faces, staring them down. “They are Thenns. They will fuck you bloody whether you have the anatomy of a man, woman or goat.”

“All the same to run.” One man suggested. “Run her through.” He ordered the man with the sword to her stomach. The man looked as though the last thing he wanted to do was spill blood but peer pressure dictated his hand. He drew back the sword to make his move and began to bring it down upon her. In one movement Dria had pushed the point of her spear through his neck and back out again like a snake striking it’s prey. The man fell to the ground and Dria brandished her spear at the rest of them.

“Run, if you want.” She snarled, “But let it be known I will give your names to the first Thenn to breach the wall.” She stared them down. The remaining men looked to each other and then her. “I may not be your brother. I may not have a cock. But I will always fight for what is right.” They nodded and took up stance beside her just as the west wall fell. Wildlings and Thenns ploughed over it, swords slashing and glinting as they did. Dria found herself caught up in it. Fighting here was not like the fighting she had done with Grenn. It was bloody and disorientating. The Thenns showed no mercy as they cut down all in their path. She had been right. They did not discriminate by gender. They killed all equally and viciously. Dria retreated from the bottleneck, taking with her the few men remaining who had agreed to stand by her. The castle walls rang with the sound of swords and screaming, the smell of death heavy in the air. Dria was breathless from swinging her weapons but she found she was keeping up with every man around her as the instinct to survive prevailed. She did not know for how long she was fighting, nor how many wildlings or Thenns she killed or injured. The bodies were piling up in the courtyard as the hours ticked by. They were outnumbered and outweaponed. They could not possibly hope to win this fight.

Dria threw herself behind a barrel as she felled yet another enemy. Her vision was blurring and she couldn’t breathe. She was dehydrated, her hands were raw and her knuckles bloody. She had cuts all over her body from narrowly avoided parries but she was alive. Her heart was still beating and her brain was working in overdrive. Dria watched Sam run to the lift and convince the boy, Olly, to draw it up. From her vantage point as she caught her breath she watched Alliser Thorne, who had given such a rousing speech at the beginning, fall to a giant of a man. The man’s hair was as flaming as his beard and his face snarled with the fight. Thorne rolled off the stairs and onto the ground below and even Dria had to admit, for all his flaws, that he had fought well. It was unclear if he was living or dead. The man who had cut down Thorne celebrated his prize. Dria knew, with Thorne down, the castle would not stand much longer. Not unless someone stepped up and she had no idea where Jon was or if he was even alive. Thinking only for the protection of the North, Dria launched herself from her hiding place and sprinted across the courtyard. She screamed as she jumped onto the back of the man, her spear across his chest to hold his hands down as he writhed. He bellowed like a bull and tried to throw her off or twist his head to bite her but she clung on. She didn’t know exactly what her plan was now except to hold on long enough for him to be disarmed, but he clung on to his sword until she was forced to relinquish her grip and drop to her feet. She landed like a cat and sprang straight back up again, drawing her own sword from her belt and wielding it at the giant.

“A girl!?” He bellowed incredulously, a laugh in his eyes. “I didn’t think the crows had the guts to embrace such change.” He swung his greatsword and Dria ducked, lifting her own sword to block it.

“I don’t need anyone to tell me what to do.” She shouted, finding herself with the strength to match him. She was smaller and quicker. She darted about him, her resolve stiffened, and jabbed her sword into the back of his thigh. He cried out in pain and punched out. She ducked to narrowly miss his enormous fist as it ploughed into the wooden pillar and brought have the ceiling crashing down on top of him. It was enough time for her to roll from the platform and land on the hay below where Thorne had been just moments before: either he was alive and had fled or somebody had carried him away. Dria looked up in time to see the giant man climbing down to finish her off. She rolled back onto her feet just as a brother ran forward to block the attack. Dria recognised him as one of the men she had scolded before. He nodded at her to move away and engaged the man in combat. Dria scrambled to her feet and span around, bewildered at what she had just done. She backed into a pile of crates behind which the young boy, Olly, was hiding. He reminded her so much of the young Stark boys. It caught her breath in her throat.

“Hey.” She said, holding up her hands as he looked at her in fear. “You good?”

“Y... Yes.” He stammered. He didn’t look it.

“You got a weapon?” She asked, concerned. He shook his head. “Arm yourself. Or you won’t make it through the night.” She handed him a discarded crossbow and gave him as warm a smile as she could manage. Helping him made up for the guilt she still felt at leaving Bran to his fate in the north. He smiled at her briefly in the thanks and fumbled with the bow. Dria turned away from him as she heard the ratchet of the ramshackle lift. Looking up at it, momentarily dropping her guard, she saw Jon. He looked down at her and clutched the bars in his attempt to show his gratefulness at her still being alive. She smiled up at him and gave him a small nod, but his face turned to terror as he watched Styr, the leader of the Thenns, come up behind her. His expression was enough warning and she ducked and rolled out of the way as Styr’s axe came down where she had been seconds before. Jon watched in terror as he could do nothing to help from where he was, but to his surprise Dria fought well. She recovered quickly and was fast on her feet as she darted around the cumbersome enemy, weighed down as he was by his axe and his armour. Jon watched incredulously as she managed to jab at Styr’s calf with her spear, rendering damage and causing him to thrash out. Her luck ran out as Styr’s fist collided with Dria’s face and sent her crashing to the ground, her spear skittering away and her mouth bloodied. Jon cried out and, needing to be there as Styr picked Dria up by the throat, Jon pulled open the cage before it hit the ground. With one last look at Sam he launched himself down the rest of the way, his need to save her stronger than his fear. He barrelled over, taking out countless wildlings and Thenns on the way, as Dria struggled against Styr’s grip on her throat.

“You’re going to taste beautiful.” He hissed, leaning in to her face with his tongue out, ready to lick her. Dria recoiled and before he could make contact she was dropped as he received a sword to the back.

“Go!” Jon shouted as he engaged Styr in combat. Dria, winded, fought to get her breath back as she coughed on the ground, watching as Jon moved Styr away from her. She crawled along the ground for a moment as she fought for air, snatching up her spear as she rolled onto her feet again and staggered into a wall.

Dria felt an arrow whistle past her ear, narrowly missing her by inches. She looked up to see a red-headed woman with another arrow pointing straight at her. In an instant Dria knew this was her. She breathed out, realising that this was inevitable, and raised her spear in two hands. Ygritte fired another arrow and Dria deflected it, advancing on Ygritte with surprising speed. She broke into a run as Ygritte fumbled to load another arrow. From what she had heard she expected Jon’s wife to be fancy woman with no resolve. When she had learned that Dria was inside Castle Black Ygritte knew that she had to kill her. What she hadn’t expected was for Dria to fight back. Before Ygritte could knock another arrow she had been knocked to the side by an impressive whack from the end of Dria’s spear. Her bow went skittering across the floor and she was forced to whip the dagger from her belt lest she be impaled. From her position on the ground she hooked the dagger under the head of the spear and with a flick of the rest sent it out of Dria’s hands. Two could play at this game. Dria was prepared. She pulled her own knife from her belt and dropped to her knees beside Ygritte. Up until now she had believed she had forgiven Jon. She believed they could have moved on. But Ygritte being here was living breathing proof of Jon’s betrayal and Dria saw red. The situation was not the same. She had believed Jon dead when she had bedded Gendry. Jon had no such excuse, and seeing how beautiful Ygritte was only made it worse. Dria slashed out with the dagger but Ygritte was too quick. She flipped Dria back and slammed her into the floor, knocking the window out of her and climbing on top of her like a wild animal.

“I bet you want to know what it felt like when he went down on me?” Ygritte said, punching Dria across the face and pinning down her wrist so she couldn’t stab her. Dria fought but Ygritte was much stronger, much wilder. “What he said? He said I was like no girl he’d ever been with.” Ygritte leant in close to Dria as she spoke.

“That’s because I’m not a girl. I’m a woman.” Dria retorted, acting on instinct and slamming her forehead into Ygrittes, knocking her backwards but dazing herself in the process. She blinked, trying to recalibrate, and felt a sharp pain in her leg as Ygritte drove her dagger into Dria’s thigh. Dria cried out in pain and lashed out at Ygritte. Her fist made no contact as Ygritte backed off in search of her bow. Dria wrenched the dagger from her leg with a cry and clasped her spear in her hand, forcing herself onto her knees. She could feel the blood seeping down her leg and onto the floor. “Face it Ygritte.” She spat blood. “He never loved you. He simply used you.”

Ygritte glared at this privileged whore as she knocked an arrow with a shaking hand just as Jon dug a hammer into Styr’s skull. He looked over as Ygritte raised her bow and pointed it directly at Dria’s heart.

“Ygritte!” Jon shouted, “No!”

Dria swayed as the blood poured out of her body. She dropped her spear as she fought the urge to collapse, her strength leaving. She could see Jon running over. She couldn’t last much longer and Ygritte was going to loose that arrow any second.

“I won.” She breathed so only Ygritte could hear. Time slowed down and Dria’s hearing blurred as she swayed. “I’m carrying his child.” She breathed. Ygritte cried out in angst, loosing the arrow, but Dria collapsed back onto the ground and the arrow embedded in the wall behind her. She didn’t see Olly fire the bolt that shot Ygritte through the heart, or Jon catching her falling body. She didn’t see the tear Jon shed as Ygritte died, or the cry that he gave when he realised Dria was bleeding heavily and unconscious. She didn’t hear the wildlings retreat or feel Jon carry her into the great hall with the rest of the injured. She didn’t feel him clutching her hand as Maester Aemon instructed his stewards to bind her leg and he himself checked her over.

The days passed and Jon sought council with Mance Rayder. When he returned he headed straight to Dria’s chambers, not caring who saw him or what they would think. He was beyond caring. The watch had other things to worry about, what with the presence of Stannis Baratheon to contend with. Jon took up Dria’s hand and held it to his lips, sobbing and praying. All Dria knew was black. She didn’t even dream in her unconscious state, so weak was she from the loss of blood.

Then, in her cocoon, she heard Maester Aemon speak as though from a long distance away.

“She’s about a third along I’d say.” Maester Aemon said. He didn’t sound stern but he gave a warning nonetheless. “Be careful my boy. Some may forgive your constant disregard for the oath you have taken, but others may not. They may seek to harm you, or the unborn bastard.”

“He’s not a bastard.” Jon replied and Dria was brought a little closer to reality. “She is my wife.”

“Not anymore.” Aemon warned. “I think perhaps better she be labelled a pariah then you be labelled an oathbreaker.”

“You mean pretend the child is not mine?”

“Something to consider.” Aemon could be heard getting further away as though leaving the room. Sure enough the door clicked shut and Dria’s eyes snapped open.

She was staring at the same grey ceiling she had come around to all those months ago. It took her a moment to realise Jon was holding her hand and that the conversation had been real. He had his eyes shut, his head buried in her hand as though his thoughts were plaguing him.

“Jon?” She said weakly. His head snapped up and he put a hand instantly to her cheek.

“Dria.” He whispered. She thought about everything she could remember, about the battle and her injury and... Ygritte.

“Did we win?” She asked.

“Yes my love.” Jon said softly. “We won.”

“Good.” Dria whispered. She looked at him seriously. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” He shook his head. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I am the one who should be sorry. All this time I have been trying to protect you but really you do not need it. I was watching you. You are a natural.”

Dria smiled for a moment before it faded.

“I am sorry nonetheless.” She swallowed hard. “About Ygritte.”

“It was inevitable.” Jon said, his voice laced with sadness. “That is not your doing.” Dria was not convinced, but he put a hand on her cheek softly. “You will never have anything to be sorry for again. For you have given me everything.”

Dria blinked at him.

“That’s what you were going to tell me, wasn’t it? Before. You were going to tell me about the child.” He put a hand gently on her stomach atop the furs. Dria felt a tear roll from her eye. He gently wiped it with his thumb. He smiled and it was the first time she had seen him genuinely happy in a long time. “Everything is going to be alright, Dria. I promise. Nothing can tear us apart now.”

He got to his feet and kissed her softly on her dry lips. As she closed her eyes she couldn’t help but think Jon had spoken something so wrong in all his life. In this uncertain time of life it seemed everything could tear them apart.

And she was right.


	21. Episode 5: An Oath Undone (Pt. 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dria and Jon deal with the aftermath of the Battle for Castle Black.

Jon visited Adria as often as he dared. In the aftermath of the battle no-one much cared for his whereabouts and so he grew bold in his need to see the mother of his child. Yet his mind was filled with Maester Aemon’s warning and advice.

“What do you want to do about it?” Dria asked as he explained his concerns.

“I do not care if I am labelled an oathbreaker. They already know I lay with Ygritte...” He looked at her carefully but this was a truth she had chosen to accept about him. She was dead, as was Gendry, and there was nothing much either of them could do about it. There was no sense dwelling on the mistakes of their past, not with the promise of their future growing in Dria’s womb.

“They know but they do not accept it.” Dria reminded him. “If Thorne had his way he’d have you whipped. Or worse.”

“After the battle Thorne can say very little. You were not the only one to see him cower. And he is very aware that he was saved by a woman.”

Dria smirked. It was the one part of the battle she was proud of.

“You fight like no-one I’ve ever seen.” Jon put a hand on her cheek, suddenly pensive. “I am sorry that I doubted you.”

“You and the rest of your gender.” Dria said, but she kissed his hand lightly to show him she was teasing. She frowned again, concern returning. “Laying with a wildling was one thing. But having the mother of your child in the castle with you... I don’t think the brothers would be as quick to forgive. By now they will all be aware of who I really am.”

“I can’t have them think you a whore.”

“I’d rather that then my child have a father with no head.” Dria said seriously, clutching her swelling belly. Jon clenched his jaw as he thought it over yet again. “We’ll say his father is someone I met on the road. That’s all. It will mean you are the sympathetic party.”

“Dria... I...”

“No, Jon.” Dria smiled softly. “That’s what is happening. Accept it my love. To protect you both.” She kissed him gently. He sighed.

“When did you get to be so smart.”

“I’ve always been smart,” She said. “What I lacked was confidence. When will they decide Lord Commander?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Will Stannis still be here?” She pursed her lips. Jon had told her all of what had happened whilst she had been unconscious: his journey north, the capture of Mance Rayder by Stannis and his troops. She had not revealed the entire reason for her hatred towards the man who declared himself King, only that he and the red woman had conspired to have her sacrificed. Nothing about Gendry. Jon’s position as fragile enough as it was.

“Aye.” Jon said. He looked at Dria carefully. “He asked me to forsake my oath and join him.”

“What? Why?”

“He thinks I will help him claim the North back from the Boltons.”

Dria’s stomach flipped. Stannis would not take both of them from her. “You’re a sworn brother.” Dria reminded him.

“What was that about oathbreaking?” Jon smiled and kissed her nose. “I will not take up his offer. There is nothing for me in the North anymore. All I need is right here in front of me.”

Dria smiled at him and watched him leave, but she wasn’t so sure. He still had sisters out there somewhere. Perhaps the North needed him more than they could have thought.

It took a few days for Dria to feel strong enough to leave her chambers. Maester Aemon made a point of keeping her in her bed until she could stand alone and unaided, so weak were her legs. If the knife in her thigh had been a few millimetres to the right it would have severed an important artery. As it stood it had not, and Dria couldn’t help but see that as a kindness from the Gods. She couldn’t leave Jon alone with Stannis and the red woman any longer than was necessary.

The Castle Black that met her when she left her chambers was a different one to when she had fought and fallen unconscious. The smoking remnants of bonfires scattered the courtyard all that remained of the fallen brothers and Wildlings. The already solemn faces of the Nights Watch were even more solemn as they dealt with the aftermath. Dria had been aggrieved to learn Pyp and Grenn had both fallen to the wildlings. She made a note to visit the Godswood and pray for their souls when she had the strength.

The day was to end with the execution of Mance Rayder, self-proclaimed King-beyond-the-Wall. It was his forces who had attacked the castle and so there was nothing short of hatred towards him. She knew Jon felt differently. As she made her way through the courtyard to the great hall she was met with whispers that made her wonder if she was as hated as Mance. She had no right to be here, and even less now that she was carrying the bastard of a brother. She knew the next five months would not be easy, and she would have to make some decisions about what to do once the baby was born. The whispers continued and she prepared herself to be labelled ‘whore’. However when she looked upon the faces of the whisperers they bowed their heads in respect. She frowned and returned the gesture. It was only after it happened three times that someone explained it. She recognised the boy as the one she had commanded during the battle, the one who had engaged her attacker. She found herself happy to see him alive.

“Thank you.” He said. “For all you have done.”

She simply nodded her bewildered head in response. Maybe she wasn’t as hated as she thought.

Mance Rayder’s execution was over swiftly. The red woman, the one who made Dria’s skin crawl, stood up to say a few words about the Lord of Light and Dria found herself itching to push Melisandre into the pyre. She clutched her stomach and tried to focus on what was happening. Mance was set alight and his desperate, fearful cries filled the air. Dria forced herself to watch. She had not known Mance personally but such a great leader of men deserved to die with dignity. She knew Jon admired him and that was enough for her. She could see the giant ginger-haired wildling watching on with narrowed eyes. Her stomach flipped when she looked at him and thought about how things might have been different if she had not been as bold as she was. She looked from the giant to where Thorne stood across the courtyard from her. He was looking back at her and she could tell from his expression he was thinking about the same thing. Whatever way he looked at it he owed her his life. She wondered if he would be honourable enough to remember that.

The execution was cut short when an arrow pierced Mance’s heart, dragging Dria from her thoughts. The shocked onlookers turned to see Jon lower his bow from the balcony above. He had shown the wildling mercy and that would either make him or break him.

The next day passed slowly as they all awaited the oncoming Lord Commander election. Dria settled herself by the fire in the great hall and set about plucking geese for the supper. It did her well to keep busy after so long in bed. The baby in her stomach demanded food and she once again found herself wondering how she had let it go unnoticed for so long. The bubbling in her stomach had been put down to nerves or stress. When she thought about what she had put the foetus through she was astounded by its resolve. She paused in her plucking to rub her stomach as she felt it move in response. She smiled slightly as she imagined what it might look like: curly black hair, her turquoise eyes.

She had seen that baby before. In a dream. A dream with Davos’ voice.

And she had dreamt of a baby before that. Her heart plummeted as she remembered her premonition.

She had heard a baby crying in the background as she looked at Jon’s unseeing dead eyes.

Her fist curled slowly on her stomach as she made the horrible realisation of what all of this could mean. She felt sick.

No. She wouldn’t let that premonition come true.

“How far along does Maester Aemon think you are?” Dria was pulled from her thoughts by Gilly, carrying baby Sam, as she sat down opposite her.

Dria took a moment to clear her thoughts before shrugging. “A couple of months.”

“I could tell, you know. When I looked at you.”

“Just from looking?” Dria said sceptically.

“I’ve seen enough pregnant women to know what they look like.” Gilly said with a kind smile. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ve gone this long without knowing about it.” Dria said. “It seems pretty easy to me. The hard part will come later.

“Jon won’t let them kick you out. You’ll stay here like me and little Sam.” She chucked the baby under the chin and he giggled. Dria smiled down at him.

“I doubt they’ll let two babies stay.” She said sadly.

“They will if Jon becomes Lord Commander. He makes the rules then.”

Dria stared at her. “He’s not putting himself forward for it.” They hadn’t even discussed it.

Gilly frowned. “Just what Sam said, is all.”

“What did Sam say?”

“Nothing much. Just that it would be good for all the men if Jon did. The battle wouldn’t have been won without Jon.” She looked at Dria seriously. “Or you.”

“I did nothing.” Dria said, still frowning at her stomach.

“If you say so.” Gilly replied. She was distracted by Sam and Jon entering.

“Gilly, you have to leave now.” Sam said. “The vote is starting.”

“I guess that means me too?” Dria slowly got to her feet. Jon hurried forward to help her but she slapped his hand away.

“Sorry.” Sam said with a small shrug. Gilly picked up baby Sam and they left the room. Dria made to follow but Jon caught her arm.

“May I speak with you?” He asked quietly. Men were starting to filter in and fill the benches. Sam frowned at the interaction.

“I have to leave, don’t I?”

“We have a few moments.” Jon led her closer to the fire where they would be out of eyesight from the majority of the room. “I’ve just come from King Stannis.”

“You’re calling him King now, too, are you?” Dria said huffily.

“He is the heir, Dria. I know you are wary of him.” Jon was speaking so quietly even Dria struggled to hear him. “But he has made me an offer.”

“Trying to get you to desert again?” Dria whispered back.

“Yes, in a way.” Jon said with a glance around them. “But he told me that if I agreed to serve him he would legitimise me.”

Dria stared at him. “Make you a Stark?” She asked incredulously.

“Yes. It’s all I ever wanted, Dria. Now more than ever.” He put a hand on her stomach. She tensed but did not push him away. “I do not want my child to have the same life I did. I do not want him to be born a bastard like me.”

“You always said that never mattered. Your father loved you as much as he loved Robb or Bran or Rickon. You were his son. Nothing more.”

“In his eyes, yes. But not in the eyes of anyone else.”

“Does that matter?”

“I want my son to have a chance, Dria. If I say yes to Stannis and become a Stark we can remarry. Our son will be a lord.”

“Thorne will take your head.”

“Not if Stannis commands it.”

“That’s not how the Watch works. You can’t just change the rules.”

Jon seemed to be struggling with her lack of enthusiasm. “You don’t want our child to be legitimate?”

Dria entwined her fingers in his, momentarily forgetting their location. She looked deep into his eyes. “Our child will be loved and that is all that matters to me.” She clenched her jaw and sighed. “I know all you’ve ever wanted is to be a Stark. But please think about this.” She released his hand and stepped away from him. “Do what you think to be right.”

Jon was spared from arguing further by Maester Aemon calling the room to order. In the confusion no-one had thought to tell Dria to leave, and so as Jon stepped up beside Sam Dria lurked behind them. It would make a scene were she to leave now, and so she stayed, her mind reeling. Jon was risking so much by considering Stannis’ offer. He was toxic, and so was the woman he kept at his side. She was a scheming witch and nothing good could come from her. Dria clutched her stomach and thought about Jon’s words. Legitimate. Their son being a bastard had not even crossed her mind. She did not think it would be that hard a life for it considering where it was bound to be born.

At least if Jon took Stannis’ offer they might be safer, but then how safe was the road ahead that Stannis faced? Reclaim the North? The Boltons would behead them all and skin their corpses. Bastardy was the safe road compared to that fate.

And what of Jon’s? If he left he would be risking execution by Thorne, who would no doubt be elected Lord Commander...

She was dragged from her thoughts as Sam nominated Jon for Lord Commander. Her mind reeled as she thought about how that might change things. Sam seemed to have considered that too as he explained Jon’s cause. He kept her out of it, but Dria couldn’t help but wonder how that might change things again. If Jon was Lord Commander and he did in fact have the power to change the rules perhaps they had a future.

She watched in amazement as the men voted for him.

Jon Snow was the new Lord Commander of Castle Black.

The Lord Commander’s chambers were much grander than those elsewhere. They were still empty and freezing, even with the roaring fire, but the bed seemed to be comfortable and the walls were lined with drapes. Dria entered nervously as Olly backed from the room, having been sent to find her.

“You sent for me, Lord Commander.” Dria said anxiously, obeying protocol as she looked to where Jon was standing in the window. The moonlight framed him in a sort of halo. He turned to her, his expression serious.

“Dria.” He said. “I have been speaking with the men and I have come to a conclusion, my first as Lord Commander.” He was speaking in a tone of voice Dria had never heard him use, full of authority and weighted with decision.

“What’s that, my lord?” Dria asked with a dry mouth. Had it gone to his head that quickly? He stood behind his desk and leant his knuckles on the wood as he surveyed her through heavy eyes. What conclusion had been made?

“Get your things. Pack up.” Dria’s jaw dropped a little as Jon spoke. “You cannot stay in that chamber any longer.” Dria stared at him.

“My lord?” She took a step closer to him, tears stinging her eyes. “You’re sending me away?”

Jon met her eyes and for a moment the room was silent. Then his stern expression broke and he shook his head.

“Never.” He said with a crack in his voice. He walked around his desk and took her in his arms. “You and the baby are to move into the chamber next door.” He kissed her gently as she stared at him in bewilderment.

“What?” She breathed.

“The men, for the most part, agree that you had as much a part to play in the battle as I or they. They agree to my change of rule.”

Dria shook her head at him. “What change?” Her voice was shaking.

Jon waited before he spoke, savouring the moment.

“That you are to be the first unofficial woman of the Nights Watch.”

His words hung in the air as she blinked at him.

“As in...?” She breathed eventually.

“You will fight with us lest the need arrive, you will eat and drink with the men, they are not to touch you, though many would not dare.” He was smiling wider than she had seen in a long time. “You no longer have to live in fear of the men. And for most of them my former relationship or any current relationship with you are irrelevant.”

“Thorne will not...” She started, but Jon shook his head.

“Thorne nor Slynt can touch us.”

Her eyes were swimming with tears of conflicted joy and amazement as she stared up at him. “My... condition?” She posed.

“Once the baby is born you will be both mother and brother. If anyone is capable of both it is you.” He surveyed her expression with a slight crease in his brow. “Does this make you happy?”

All she could do was nod, all fear ebbing away as she thought about this situation, one that she had never known she had wanted until now. 

He stroked her cheek. “This is the future, Dria. It’s our future.”

She smiled at him and he kissed her to seal the deal.

The first woman of the Nights Watch. Mother, brother, warrior, wife. Now that was a legacy she could agree with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! First author note. Due to the negative comments I've received I thought I'd take this opportunity to share my thoughts. 
> 
> So much of Dria's story has been leading up to this moment. All of her conflicting wants and desires (like so many of us who have dreams it's hard to know which ones you want until they present themselves) have finally come to this point.
> 
> * Dria, like all girls in Westeros, grew up with stories of the Targaryens. She secretly wished to be a great warrior but saw the way Arya was put down for being vocal about her wishes and so Dria never voiced them: not in Westeros at least. Back home on Dauphin is a different story. Dauphin is a very Grecian place and a lot of the customs are a mishmash of Sparta (where women were trained alongside men) and Delphi (the home of the oracle). I thought I'd clarify that in case it wasn't clear - it's going to be relevant coming up.
> 
> * Originally I had a scene where Davos tells Dria Gendry isn't really dead, but then I thought that would take away the love she is feeling (or thinks she is feeling) for Jon at present. He's the action hero women secretly dream about after all. What she had with Gendry was safe and domestic, but Jon is a fantasy that is reality. She hasn't forgotten Gendry and she still loves him, but her grief for him is clouding her judgement. If I had had Davos tell Dria the truth then she would have probably torn herself apart not knowing what to do. 
> 
> * When she first met Jon she always dreamed of starting a family with him someday. Now she is pregnant and that dream is close to becoming a reality. The fact that Aemon is unclear about how far along she is hasn't even crossed her mind... that there is less than a month between her last night with Gendry and being reunited with Jon. Shame DNA tests don't exist in Westeros... if only there were other (magical) methods.


	22. Episode 5: An Oath Undone (Pt. 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dria fears for her baby's future in Castle Black. She is conflicted by love and duty.

The last thing on anyone’s mind was Adria’s appointment as a ‘Lady of the Watch’: an honorary title that simply meant she could and would fight alongside them should the need arise. There were less than 50 men remaining after the Battle of Castle Black. Most of them were too busy morning the fallen or tending to their own wounds to care much for her affairs or those of Jon Snow. Most of the men had simply accepted it, especially those who had seen her fight during the battle. They knew she was worthy, and though her title was not an official one and came with no privileges and no commitment such as theirs they were happy for her to remain. Her condition especially, as Jon had said, meant nothing to them and so she stopped worrying. Now that she was aware of her condition her stomach grew considerably as though knowing about it gave the baby permission. She was granted sewing materials and set to tending to the men’s clothing, as well as adjusting her own. She was happy to have Gilly around for advice. She was the closest thing Dria had ever had to a friend her own age: discounting Jon and Gendry.

Dria still thought about the blacksmith often. Remembering him was not made difficult by the presence of Stannis, Davos and Melisandre. She had not spoken with any of them since they had arrived. She did not wish to. Jon knew she was wary of the red woman and was wary himself after hearing what Stannis and Melisandre had planned to do with Dria. He was more than happy to keep his ex-wife and unborn child away from their witchcraft. Being around Jon made it harder to remember details about Gendry. She would light a candle for Gendry each night, nonetheless. She felt it the least she could do when she had escaped and Gendry had not. More than once Davos had attempted to speak with her but she had dismissed him. She did not wish for him to get into trouble for helping her escape, but more than anything she did not wish to hear details about how Gendry had met his end, or what Stannis and Melisandre had done with his body. She preferred to think of him as they had been, together in his chamber when he had asked her to be his queen.

“What are you thinking about?” Jon asked as he came through the door with his arms full of scrolls. Dria was standing by the window vaguely watching the courtyard as Stannis’ men trained. She could see him through the smouldering bonfires the red woman insisted on having lit to ‘keep the darkness away’. He looked dark eyed and evil.

“Nothing.” Dria said as she forced herself to look away and at Jon. He was at his desk now, dropping the scrolls on the surface and turning to look to her.

Command took to him well. In the light from the fire he was framed strongly and his jaw was set in the profile of his father. Dria couldn’t help but smile slightly as she looked upon him, all thoughts of Gendry chased from her mind. It was difficult to feel like she and Jon had ever been apart when he stood before her looking at her as he did. It had been over three years since they had been separated on the Kings Road. Three years of separation couldn’t erase the years of friendship and the bond they had created. The life growing inside her only cemented it. He seemed to follow her thoughts as he stepped up to her and put a hand on her swollen belly.

“He’s growing strong.” He stated.

“He?” Dria teased.

“I know it’s a boy.” Jon said. “I can feel it.”

“You _hope_ it’s a boy. That’s not the same.”

“I will love it either way. Boy or girl, bastard or legitimate. I will love it because you bore it.” He kissed her gently on the forehead. She closed her eyes momentarily and tried to focus on her thoughts and feelings in that moment, swallowing all of her worries from the past and the future.

“Have you made a decision?” She asked as he stepped away from her again.

“A decision?” He asked coyly.

“About Stannis’ offer?”

“Oh.” Dria knew perfectly well he knew what she was asking. He simply chose not to acknowledge it. “I have.”

“And?” She semi-held her breath as she stroked her round stomach.

“I have decided to remain at the watch.” He said matter-of-factly. “It is my home, and where I shall remain.” He looked at her with wide eyes and she could sense the confliction in him. “I realised that I only ever wanted my father’s name so that I could feel like I belong somewhere, anywhere. So that I could have a family.” He reached out and took her hand. “Thanks to you, Dria, I’ve got one.” She felt tears sting her eyes as she looked at him with nothing but love. “The only place I have ever belonged is with you.”

Her smile faded sadly.

“What is it?” He sounded worried. “Have I said the wrong thing?”

“You’re sure that’s what you want?”

“I am.”

There was a long pause as Dria put a hand on his cheek and searched his eyes imploringly. She smiled warmly and kissed him lightly on the lips. “Don’t make this decision simply for me.”

“I have made it for us.” He said, his hand finding her stomach again. “I promise. It’s the right thing.”

“I trust you.” She said with a nod. He kissed her again, just as the door opened and they sprang apart.

Olly entered, pausing slightly as he shut the door. He had been appointed Jon’s squire and seemed proud in the role. He didn’t bat an eye to their embrace as Dria smiled warmly at him.

“Olly.” She said with a small nod.

“My lady.” Olly replied. He turned to Jon. “The King wishes to speak with you, my Lord.”

“He’ll want an answer.” Jon sighed and sat behind his desk. “Very well. Send him in.”

“I will take my leave. Come on Ghost.” Dria tapped her thigh and the direwolf rose to follow her obediently. She bobbed a small curtsey and turned for the door, “Lord Commander.” Jon nodded his head back at her as she and the direwolf left the room. Olly was frowning after her.

“The men won’t like it.”

“If the men have a problem,” Jon said curtly, “They may take it up with me. Relationships are complicated things my lad.”

“But the oath says...”

“Been studying hard, have you?”

“Yes sir.”

“It says I will take no wife. Lady Tawn is not my wife.”

“She was once.”

“Until I took another oath.”

“It also says you will father no children.”

“That it does.” Jon sighed. “As I said, relationships are complicated.”

Olly frowned. “Are you saying the baby is not yours?”

“Are you to keep the King waiting, Olly?” Jon replied in a tone that implied the conversation was over. Olly swallowed hard. To him the conversation was only just beginning. He looked up to Jon but some of the decisions he made could be questionable. Nevertheless, bound by his new found sense of duty, Olly scuttled off to fetch the King.

Dria stood overlooking the courtyard and waiting for the brothers meeting to end. After Stannis had finished with Jon he had been called to attend to the brothers. Despite being an honorary member they had both thought it best if Dria did not attend for now, just until Thorne was sent to the North and Slynt to Eastwatch. Dria was once again submerged in her thoughts when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She whirled around and found herself face to face with Davos, her uncle.

“Ser Davos.” She said through tight lungs.

“My lady.” Davos bowed his head. “Our paths cross at last.”

“Forgive me for not extending my hospitality to you, Ser. I have been taken ill of late.” Dria could not look him in the eye.

“So I’ve heard. Congratulations are in order I believe.”

“My, word spreads quickly.” Dria pulled her cloak tighter around herself.

“I can see it in your face.” Davos offered her a small smile. “Snow will make a fine father I’m sure.”

“Shh.” Dria hissed as she looked about her. “No one can know.”

“Oh?” Davos looked about them too. “I don’t think the men best care.”

“The oath?”

“The oath exists to keep men in their posts. Young Jon Snow has no trouble doing his duty, I’m sure.”

“Even so.” Dria said through a clenched jaw. “I’d rather they think me a whore than accuse Jon of betrayal.”

“So who are we saying it belongs to?” Davos asked as he leant against the rail beside her. “Young Gendry?”

Dria felt a pang in her stomach and an involuntary sob emitted from her mouth. Davos frowned at her, and it was in that moment he realised she did not know of his fate. He opened his mouth to tell her the truth, ease her pain, but they were both distracted by the doors to the hall bursting open and Janos Slynt being led out by two brothers in a state of protest.

“Scum!” He shouted, “All of you! Especially the bastards!”

Davos and Dria watched from the balcony as Jon emerged along with his brothers. Olly ran from his chambers with Longclaw in his hand. Dria clutched the railing as they watched Slynt be placed on his knees. “You’ll pay for this,” Slynt shouted, “You and your whore!” Dria’s gloves fingers tightened on the railing.

“What on earth...” Davos started. All thoughts of Gendry slipped Davos’ mind as they watched the scene play out. They watched as Jon was handed his sword by Olly, and took his place over Slynt’s head. Whatever had happened in the hall meant Jon was not in the forgiving mood. Dria had never seen this look on his face before. It frightened her, but mostly because it was his chance to prove himself. She watched as Slynt changed his tack. He began to plead with Jon, beg for forgiveness. Dria could see Jon hesitate. She gripped the rail even tighter and looked at him pleadingly: wanting him to do his duty for his own sake.

“He who passes the sentence,” She muttered under her breath as he looked up at her what appeared to be reassurance and she offered him the smallest of head shakes, telling him not to falter, “Swings the sword.”

He set his jaw and brought Longclaw down on Slynt’s snivelling head. Dria breathed out and thanked the Gods that Jon had not shown weakness. There was a kerfuffle in the courtyard as Jon’s position as Lord Commander was cemented and Slynt’s body was carried away.

Dria looked up from the crowd and straight into the eyes of Melisandre, standing opposite her. Dria’s breath caught in her throat as she watched Melisandre place her hands on her own stomach, right where Dria’s baby kicked her in that moment. Dria gasped, panicked, and stumbled backwards.

“My lady?” Davos caught her arm but Dria pulled away.

“I’m sorry.” Dria panted, “I’ve got to go.”

She hurried away from Davos before he could say another word to her. Her mind was reeling and she felt the urge to take to a horse and simply ride away from the Castle. But out there was no safer than in here. She was conflicted, fearing for her baby in such a place. Slynt had been a horrible person and he had surely deserved to be executed thus, but Dria couldn’t help but wonder what toll it would take on Jon. She looked up at the balcony to find Melisandre gone. She didn’t trust that woman one bit. And the coincidence was too much to handle: the baby had kicked for the first time just as Melisandre had mirrored her actions. The witch had too much power.

Dria had no idea where she was. She wandered aimlessly through the dingy tunnels of Castle Black with her mind reeling and her hand clamped over her stomach. She felt overwhelmed, the panic rising in her with no explanation. She forced herself to stay calm, to breathe, as she crashed against the wall and slid down it, sobbing. She wrapped her arms around her stomach and cradled it for all the world as though it were a newborn baby. What kind of life would her child have in such a place? A place where execution was commonplace and every other man was a rapist or pillager. All of the happiness she had felt only hours ago was ebbing away as the panic took her over. It was only as the sky grew dark outside that she realised how long she had been sat on the floor. Her back and bottom ached from the stone as she heaved herself to her feet. Where had the panic come from? She needed to see Jon.

She stumbled back through the halls and eventually found herself to the Lord Commander’s chamber... just as Melisandre exited. The panic rose in her chest again as Dria watched the red woman look her up and down and readjust her robe as she walked away. Dria hurried to the door and knocked hastily before opening.

“Dria.” Jon got to his feet instantly behind his desk as Dria entered, taking in her tearstained cheeks and flustered appearance. “What is it?”

“What did she want?” Dria shut the door behind her and stood in the middle of the stones.

“Who?” Jon blinked at her, his false obliviousness apparent.

“The red woman.”

Jon swallowed hard. “Have a seat.”

“No.” Dria stood her ground with her hands protectively over her stomach.

There was a long pause as they simply looked at each other.

“Nothing happened.” Jon said eventually.

Dria shut her eyes, knowing all she needed to know.

“I promise.” Jon was suddenly in front of her, holding her hands. “She tried but I did nothing.”

“What did she try?”

“To... have sex with me.” His cheeks burned. Dria tried to pull out of his grip but he held fast. “Nothing happened.” He repeated.

“You know why?” Dria felt tears spurt from her eyes.

“What?”

“Why she tried to seduce you?” It all made sense now.

“Why?” Jon didn’t think he’d want to know why.

“She wanted you to impregnate her.”

“What? That’s ridiculous.”

“You’re the last remaining son of Ned Stark. King in the North by all but title. She wants to use you as a weapon in the wars to come.”

“You’re being ridiculous.” Jon shook his head. “What has got you so distraught?”

“I’m not!” Dria shouted. “She’s bad news, Jon. You know what she nearly did to me. What she did to...” She trailed off and composed herself. “I fear for our child whilst she is around.” Her hands dropped to her stomach and she cradled it again.

Jon looked at her with a mixture of concern and pity. “You think she will harm him?”

“I felt it.” Dria said slowly. “She did something. Earlier. I felt... I don’t know.” Dria took Jon’s hand and placed it on her stomach. “This child I carry will play an important role. I know it. And she does too. It threatens her. Threatens Stannis.”

Jon looked at her. He looked at her for a long time. Then he nodded.

“I’ll send her away. Them all. Tell them we cannot continue to feed them. It’s the truth at any rate.”

Dria shook her head. “I don’t want to cause a war.”

“You won’t.” Jon shook his head right back. “You aren’t. I promised I would keep you safe.”

Dria nodded slowly and let him lead her to sit on the edge of the bed. He poured her a drink and she took it in a shaking hand. “What is all this?”

Dria shrugged slowly. “I don’t know. Just... panic.” She looked at him. “What did Slynt do?”

“Do?”

“To warrant such an execution.”

“He refused an order.”

“So you executed him?”

“He refused an order... and told me he would rape you.”

Dria’s eyes widened. “Jon. The men won’t like it.”

“What?”

“That you executed a man for me.”

“It wasn’t for you. He refused an order.”

Dria frowned at him. She knew neither of them believed his words. She knew that what he had done would do nothing but darken the castle once more. The happiness she had felt before was gone entirely now, the darkness was all she could see or feel.

The fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've not posted in a while because tbh I had some really rough comments that upset me quite a lot, hence my now turning on comment monitoring which I didn't want to do. I haven't written in 10 days because I was so upset by said comments, and I've only just got back the confidence to continue with Dria's story. 
> 
> I write because I love it. I'm passionate about Dria and telling her story, and if that's not okay with everyone then I'm sorry but I do hope you find something to read that you do love. I will henceforth be writing the story I want to write. I'm happy to take requests if anyone wants me to write anything different: please PM me if that's the case and I'll happily dream up a whole new fic just for you. But Dria is my creation and I will do with her as I will. 
> 
> That being said, this is the section of the story where Dria feels safest. She has a home, of sorts, she has Jon and she has a baby on the way. But this is Game of Thrones and we all know happy endings don't exist... in the way we expect. I can promise Dria's baby will be safe, don't worry about that.


	23. Episode 5: An Oath Undone (Pt. 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon journeys to Hardhome to rescue the Wildlings, and Dria insists on going with him. She has a horrible feeling her vision of his death is going to come true - and soon.

Months passed. Stannis and his men left Castle Black and headed South to reclaim Winterfell without Jon in tow. Jon got word that the White Walkers were marching South towards the Wall. The news worried Jon and he began to think of nothing else but saving the Free Folk and allying with them. Dria grew more pregnant with each passing day, though her bump was petite, and was occupied with worries about Jon. There were whispers amongst the men that Alliser Thorne was unhappy with Jon’s leadership, and that he may soon lash out against Jon. Jon thought this would come in the form of injury to Dria or her unborn baby. Dria felt it would come in the form of harm to Jon himself. Though she had not dreamt recently she could not send the vision of Jon dead in the snow from her mind. Her dreams had never not come to path, and there had been a baby crying in the background of her vision. The closer she got to birthing her child the more she feared for Jon’s decisions.

Especially when he decided to open the gates to Wildlings.

“You can’t be serious.” She said one evening as Jon told her everything he had spoken with Tormund about.

“Tormund says his daughter is stationed at Hardhome. She is married to the Lord of Bones. She can help us.” He was bustling about preparing to set out for the North.

“You trust Tormund?” Dria asked sceptically.

“I do.” Jon did not sound wholly convinced. “Thoren, his daughter, will help to convince the Freefolk to head South and in return will fight for us in the wars to come.”

“Wars to come? You’ve spoken too much with the red woman.”

“She has made valid points.”

“No Jon.” Dria breathed out through her nose heavily. “She has made one. On repeat. Besides, you say that there are no _wars_ , simply _the_ war. The war against death itself.”

“Yes.” Jon was starting to get agitated. “The war that the Night King will bring to our gates. We are not prepared.”

“And rallying the Freefolk will help you be prepared? Whether we are forty, or forty thousand, we all face the same fate. Death comes for us all.” It was the first time Dria had voiced her fears out loud. For weeks she had thought of nothing else but the world she was birthing her child into. She stroked her stomach now as she thought about it all.

Jon sighed. “I do not ask you to understand.” He shook his head as he laid his armour out on the bed. He stood before her in simply a shirt and trousers, looking more vulnerable then she had seen him in a long time. She was sitting in a chair by the fire, a blanket over her rotund stomach. She rose as carefully as she could when he failed to look her in the eye.

“You don’t ask it, but I do. I need to know why, Jon.” She demanded. “You’ve no loyalty to the Freefolk. Why risk your own stature, your own life?!”

“Because I can’t just leave them.” Jon shot back at her.

“For the sake of who?” She asked, matching his tone in heat. “Tormund?” She knew who. Her shoulder sank as she voiced it. “Ygritte?”

Jon stopped strapping his armour together and simply froze. “Why would you say that?” He asked in an unreadable expression. Dria looked at him for a while before she replied. He withered under her gaze, knowing how hurt she must feel.

“That’s why, isn’t it? You feel guilt.” She let out steady, serious breaths as she watched him, her chest rising and falling with each strain. “Saving the Freefolk won’t bring her back, my love.”

“I don’t want her back.” Jon shook his head. Dria offered him a small smile. She had heard him call out to her in his sleep some nights.

“I know that’s not entirely true, Jon.” Dria took his hand. “It’s something I choose to look passed. We have both made mistakes. And I think you going North is another.” The North was covered with snow and she had seen him dead in it. She couldn’t tell him that, of course, but it plagued her thoughts. He misunderstood her concern as he put a hand on her cheek.

“You’ll be safe here.” He said. “Sam will keep you safe.”

Dria frowned at him and shook her head. “Forgive me, Lord Commander, but I won’t be staying.”

Jon stared at her. “Of course you will.”

“I will stay if you order me to as is my role as brother,” She stepped closer to him, shaking her head. “But my place is by your side. If you are to risk your life in the North then I will be there to risk it with you. That was my vow, was it not?”

“You’ve taken no vow.” Jon frowned at her. He needed to argue, to fight her, but he knew it was pointless.

“Have you already forgotten the vow I made to you?” She leant her forehead against his jaw and closed her eyes. He followed suit. “I will be by your side until death claims us. And I told you we would not be separated until you wished us to be.”

“I will never wish us to be.” He clutched her arms. “The North is dangerous, Dria. When you accompanied me to Crasters you were not...”

“Pregnant?” She looked into his eyes again. “But Jon, I was. We just didn’t know it. Does not knowing about it make it any safer?”

“Of course not.” Jon was floundered by her way with words.

“Well then. I swore to you I would be by your side. And that’s where I will be.”

“Your stubbornness will be the death of you.” Jon said, but he said it in a soft tone as he kissed her gently.

“As long as it is not the death of you, my Aeksio.” Dria replied quietly as she clutched at him.

Hardhome was a week’s journey from the Wall. Upon arrival it looked just like any other village, though it spread for as far as the eye could see. This was the last safe place for the Freefolk and so clans from all over the North, left to pick up the pieces when Mance Rayder had fallen, had gathered here.

“My daughter will receive us.” Tormund told them as their rowboat approached the shore. The icy waters were nothing like the sapphire shores of the Eastern oceans. Dria could almost feel the turmoil they had seen as she looked down into the grey depths. The small fleet of boats made dock and they were greeted by a mob of heavily armed wildlings all dressed in masks and man-made leather armour. There was a rippling signal of whistles as they climbed the stoney shore and greeted by a man Tormund addressed as the ‘Lord of Bones’, who wore half a human skull as a mask. The Lord of Bones was not happy by Tormund’s chosen company.

“Where is Thoren?” Tormund asked, but he was ignored by the Lord of Bones.

“Where are your chains?” He demanded. Jon swept Dria behind him subtly as he read the situation. Her vulnerable state was hidden in her cloak.

“He’s not my prisoner.” Jon called out. “We’re allies.”

Tormund was not happy at Jon’s choice of words. Neither was the Lord of Bones. It prompted him to jump to conclusions, which prompted Tormund to take his club and beat him to death with it. Dria watched in horror at the brutality of these people. Yet she felt safer than she had within the walls of Castle Black. She couldn’t explain it.

“Father.” A voice rang out over the heads of the watching Wildlings. They parted so that a woman with a similar crown of bones in her flame-red hair could approach the group. Dria watched as Jon seemed a little taken aback by her. It seemed they had met before, judging by his reaction.

“Thoren.” Tormund held his arms out to embrace his daughter. She wore a similar walrus leather to her comrades. She looked coolly down at the Lord of Bones’ bludgeoned corpse.

“You appear to have killed my husband.” She smirked a little. “About time someone did. The bastard was driving me insane.” She looked up at Tormund, nonplussed. “What do you want, father?”

“We have come to negotiate.” Tormund was panting from his kill.

“Your skills have not improved.” Thoren nudged the Lord of Bones with her boot. “I trust you can do that without killing anymore of us?” She spoke coolly. Tormund simply nodded. Thoren’s eyes scanned the collection of crows and she looked upon Jon, and then Dria. “There are women crows now? I must say I’m surprised.”

“It’s a fairly new development.” Dria called from where she stood between Jon and Edd. Thoren’s red eyebrow raised, impressed.

“You have my attention.” She gave Dria a smile of approval and then looked to Tormund. “Follow me. Bring the pretty crows.”

Thoren turned on her heel and headed back up the shore.

Inside the cabin she had shared with her now deceased husband Thoren seemed to settle very quickly into being the new leader. She wasn’t very old, about Jon and Dria’s age, and she showcased numerous bruises and scars on her face and shoulders. Some looked fairly recent and as though they had been inflicted by a fist and others from close range, such as finger-shaped bruises on her neck. Tormund took her face in his hand and tilted it to the side, observing it, before she could snatch it away.

“I’m glad I killed the fucker.” He said gruffly. “I should never have sold you to him.”

“You sold your own daughter?” Edd said before he could stop himself.

“Who are your friends, father? What do they want?” Thoren asked as though she was already bored. She was looking intently at Dria now as though x-raying her.

“We have come with a proposition.” Jon went on to explain his plan. When he was done he waited for Thoren to reply. She still had not looked from Dria and only now did she turn her attention to Jon.

“Is it your baby, Lord Commander?” She asked.

Tormund and Jon exchanged looks as Dria clutched her stomach over the cloak.

“What?” Jon asked, trying to play it dumb.

“She’s very pretty. I wouldn’t blame you. I’ve always thought that rule of yours was stupid.” She shrugged. “Take no wife, father no children... blah blah blah. How boring.”

“I don’t know why that’s important.” Jon was getting flustered.

“I want to know why else she would be allowed in if it were not that she was your woman.” Thoren was very observant, that was for sure. “If we are going to trust each other, Jon Snow, first you must answer my questions.” Jon looked gobsmacked.

“Yes.” Dria said before Jon could come up with an excuse. She looked around at the handful of crows around them. They were all trusted friends of Jon’s who already knew the truth. “The baby is Jon’s. But it is not why I am allowed into the Nights Watch.” Dria tailed off, not wanting to admit she had killed many Wildlings. Unfortunately, Tormund had also been there.

“She fights like a little devil.” Tormund said admiringly. “I’ve not seen anything like it in a long time. She reminded me of you, actually.” Tormund looked back at his daughter.

“That good, huh?” Thoren looked at Jon. “I’m impressed, Lord Crow. You seem to have a kind soul. I will then take you up on your offer. If you can indeed save my people from certain destruction... we will fight for you South of the Wall.” Thoren’s green eyes burned into Dria again.

Jon let out a noise of relief as Thoren looked to him. “Shall we see about relocating my people?”

“How many people do you have?”

“That’s where you may have trouble, Lord Crow. My people are not the only people. I am but one clan. There are many.” Jon’s shoulders sank. “And I’m afraid they are not as accommodating as me.” Thoren got to her feet, her long red hair flowing down about her waist again as she pulled on another cloak. “I will nonetheless introduce you. What harm can it do?” She began to leave the cabin when she paused. She held her arm out to Dria. “Will you walk with me? I trust women more than men.”

Dria obligingly took Thoren’s arm, feeling her immense strength even in the slightest of touches. She glanced over her shoulder nervously as Jon, Edd and Tormund followed them out of the cabin. Thoren did not scare her nearly as much as Cersei or the Red Woman had. What did scare her, however, was the look Jon was giving Thoren.

Hours later and most of the Wildlings in Thoren’s clan had been rowed out to the ships, as well as a handful from other clans. Thoren was charismatic and had strong influence over the other leaders. However some remained stoic and refused to leave, even when Thoren explained the threat. Dria had barely had chance to speak to Jon to ask if he was satisfied with the result. He was standing off-shore currently with Thoren making negotiations. Dria watched as she drew her cloak around herself and stroked her stomach. She didn’t know if she should be worried or not by such a woman. It was the way she was laughing with Jon as though they were old friends.

“I wouldn’t worry, little crow chick.” Tormund appeared at Dria’s shoulder and she jumped.

“Why should I be worried?” Dria asked defensively. Tormund simply smirked at her and carried on helping people into boats. Dria breathed out slowly. If Tormund had noticed then it wasn’t simply her. And it was a problem.

“How many are with us?” Jon asked, walking over to where Dria stood with Tormund. “5000?”

“I’m not good at counting.” Tormund grumbled as he helped more into the boats. Dria stepped away from their conversation as she watched Karsi, a spearwife and an ally of Thoren, and Thoren help children into the boats. She wondered what it would have been like to grow up a wife of the Wildlings. How different things might have been. She hurried forward to help as Karsi struggled to lift her child over the bow of the boat. She caught the childs feet and helped place them safely inside.

“Thank you.” Karsi said with a look up and down to Dria. “You’re a southern wife if ever I saw one.”

“What does that mean?” Dria asked protectively.

Karsi shook her head. “Nothing child. Only that you are not yet hardened by loss and fear.”

“Believe me.” Dria said. “I have known little else.”

“But you have known love?” Karsi offered. “You are growing it in your stomach.” She gestured at the boat. “Get in, lady. This is no place for someone in your condition.”

“I will get in when all the children have been evacuated.” Dria replied curtly. Karsi looked both impressed and appalled. She shook her head and stooped to bid farewell to her own children. Dria stroked her stomach and looked over to where Jon was watching her, wondering what he was thinking. Perhaps he wished his wife would be one of these hardened Northern spearwives.

They were distracted by the barking of dogs. The sudden shift in atmosphere made Dria stop thinking about herself and worry for the imposing danger. Jon hurried to her and clutched her arm.

“Get in the boat.” He warned.

“Jon?” Dria frowned at him, shaking her head. “What is it?”

“Just do it.” Jon urged, drawing his sword.

Almost instantly thunder rumbled and fog gathered. The already freezing air froze further, and screaming began to emerge from the gathering clouds.

“White walkers!” Thoren shouted, pushing the last boat of children out to sea and drawing her axes. “Battle positions!”

“Dria get in the boat.” Jon shouted, pushing her slightly towards the waiting rowboat. She looked at him pleadingly.

“Jon, no!” The screaming was getting louder as they shut the gates, trapping people on the other side.

“For the sake of our child, go!” Jon roared, running away from her and up the beach. Dria had no other say in the matter as she was picked up effortlessly, yet carefully, by Tormund and placed in the rowboat.

“Protect that child, little chick.” Tormund urged. The unstable footing forced her to sit as he pushed the boat out to sea.

“Jon!” Dria screamed as the boat drifted away from shore and she watched Thoren sprint up to Jon’s side. Snow gathered in the clouds around them, and then suddenly silence filled the air as the screaming stopped. From her helpless position on the drifting boat filled with old people and children she watched the White Walkers swarm over the gate and Jon desperately try to rally what remained. The wildlings began to listen as Thoren joined in. The gates flew open and the undead swept over them all, the sound of sword clanging through the air. People began to launch themselves off the dock or through the icy water to try and get to the boats. Their own boat was overrun with people trying to get on it. It rocked and Dria took the opportunity to return to shore and stand beside Jon. The water was icy cold and she felt her lungs go into shock as she plunged into it. Not thinking correctly, wanting only to get out of the panic and the water, she swam to shore effortlessly and heaved herself up onto the dock, the only one trying to return. She snatched up an abandoned dragonglass spear that had been offered to Thoren’s clan as a peace-offering and hurried into the fray.

“What are you doing here?!” Jon shouted as Dria reached his side.

“I couldn’t just leave you!” She shouted back. Jon gave her an incredulous look.

“The woman has balls!” Thoren shouted, impressed.

“You can discipline me later!” Dria urged. “For now, what is your command?!”

Jon shook his head at her. She twirled her spear and he nodded.

“We fight.” He said, then raised his voice. “Nights Watch! With me!”

And with that they ran forwards to where the gate was being breached by the dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first appearance of my second OC, Thoren. Thoren is a secondary character I've been thinking about for a while. She's a combination of Ygritte and Lagertha from Vikings -- 1000% badass, sassy, beautiful and will turn out to be a great ally and role model for Dria.  
> Gods know Dria will need a friend in the days to come.
> 
> Before anyone gives Dria shtick for endangering her unborn child I’d just like to a) point out you can have pregnancy related depression whilst still pregnant, not just after, and sometimes part of that is endangering the foetus through acting without thinking, and b) in Dria’s mind heading North she is safest with Jon and is scared to be without him, and at Hardhome she wants to protect him and doesn’t want to live without him if anything happens. She is haunted by her vision and knows his time is drawing to an end... she can feel it, and so perhaps in her mind by endangering the baby she is preventing that vision: of Jon lying dead in the snow whilst a baby cries in the background, from coming to pass. It’s messed up but the poor woman has been through Hell. Even the best of us wouldn’t think straight.


	24. Episode 5: An Oath Undone (Pt. 4)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They return from Hardhome and Dria goes into labour.

The battle was bloody. Jon, as always, fought valiantly and bravely. Thoren was a strong fighter, having spent her life living in these conditions. Tormund was ruthless. And Dria fought as though she had nothing to lose, a fact that terrified both her and Jon when they had half a brain-cell to consider it. The White Walkers washed over them like water against rock. They were outnumbered, out weaponed and these fuckers couldn’t die unless killed by a select few... and the dragonglass for the most part was in Thoren’s hut.

They all realised this at once. Thoren’s axe smashed and Dria hurled her spear – one of the only dragonglass weapons they had to hand – to take it down. They looked at each other, then at Jon as he picked up the spear and handed it back to Dria.

“Where is the dragonglass?” Dria shouted over the screams.

“The hut!” Thoren shouted. Dria and Jon looked at each other and then to the hut high up on the hill. Thoren looked between them. “Go! I’ll cover you!”

They didn’t have time to argue as Jon and Dria ran up the black slate ground and in the direction of the hut.

“You should go to the boats!” Jon shouted over to Dria as they pelted up the shore.

“I’m not leaving you, Jon!” She shouted back as she ducked a White Walker and knocked off its skull with the shaft of her spear.

“You are crazy!” The ring of his Valyrian steel sword on the undead flesh of the wights was deafening.

“Tell me later!” Dria replied. They reached the hut and Jon dived inside as Dria covered the entrance. She ducked inside as she heard him shout.

Inside were the leader of the Thenns and a handful of the enemy. Wun-Wun the giant was doing a good job of holding them back but he wasn’t equipped further than tearing them apart, and he went crashing out of the wall with many over him like ants. The hut was on fire and furniture was strewn anywhere. Jon fell to his knees besides where the bag of dragonglass had been left, pulling out and skittering it across the floor to where Dria was covering him. As she stooped the best she could beneath her baby-bump and Jon got back to his feet the silence fell around them. They turned to look at the gap in the hut walls as a wight stepped through. He was one of the generals, and he fixed his eyes on them with intention. Dria could have sworn he smiled.

“Dria. Take the glass and get to the boats.” Jon said quietly as the Thenn leader ran forward to engage the Wight.

“I’m not leaving...” Dria started to argue, but Jon pushed her as fervently as he could to get her to go.

“I’m right behind you.” Jon said as he raised his sword. Dria frowned at him, her face a mask of fear and caked in blood. He gave her a smile of reassurance as she disappeared out of the hut, stumbling as she did but regaining her footing, holding the bag of dragonglass close to her like a newborn baby. Her own baby in her stomach writhed as she fled. There should have been just over a month to go before he made an appearance, but the dull pain spreading through her stomach hinted otherwise. She put it down to the situation and concentrated on getting out alive. She stabbed and slashed left and right with her spear, felling white walkers as she did. Her heart was hammering. 

Moments later she heard Jon crash through the door behind her and turned to see him crawl away from the hut. She let down her guard as she watched him fight against the Wight that pursued him in combat.

“Lady!” Thoren was at her elbow, Dolorous Edd by her side. “We must get to the boats .We are outnumbered here, we have no chance!”

“Jon needs help!” Dria looked desperately back to where Jon was struggling.

“I’ve got it!” Edd shouted, “Get to the boats!” He hurried over to Jon as Thoren helped Dria down to the shoreline. Somewhere behind them the gate gave way and Dria prayed Edd had got to Jon. The dull pain in her stomach was back as Dria threw the bag into the last remaining longboat and let Thoren help her into it. The thundering footsteps on the jetty behind them signalled the arrival of Edd, Jon and Tormund, the latter of which who pushed the boat away from the shore as Jon and Edd climbed in. Without thinking Jon planted a grateful kiss on Dria’s lips as they turned back to watch the White Walkers swarm the shore. Tormund climbed in beside them and they stood in silence, Jon’s arms around Dria and her hands on her stomach, as the shore drifted further and further away.

“Where is Karsi?” Thoren asked quietly as she looked around them.

“Gone.” Tormund replied flatly. Thoren nodded in acceptance and whispered a low prayer of farewell. Tormund slid an arm around his daughter’s shoulders and they stood in stony silence as they watched the final wildlings succumb to the onslaught.

Whilst they were still in sight, Wun-Wun striding out beside them, the Night King made himself known. He stood on the deck and looked directly at them, into Jon’s eyes, as though promising they would see each other again. Dria felt Jon clutch her tighter as the boat continued to drift away.

Then, horrifically, the Night King raised his arms and the dead that littered the shore around them began to rise. Dria felt Jon’s gasp beside her as they watched, unable to do anything but tremble at the power of the creature before them.

They drifted the rest of the way to the ship in silence.

The journey back to the Wall was tense to say the least. Both wildlings and watch had lost men during the battle, but they all realised they were best being allies. Thoren spent the time on their ship speaking with her people and calming them, reassuring those who had lost people. Edd did the same for the watch.

Dria spent her time in the cabin nursing her sore stomach. The journey wouldn’t take more than two days but she was dreading what awaited them when they made port and tried to get the wildlings through Castle Black. She knew Jon’s intentions were good and many of the men followed him, else he would not be Lord Commander, but similarly there were others who scared her. She knew they looked for any excuse to hate him for his actions, and this was going to be the final straw for many. The dull pain in her stomach was only getting worse as they neared anchoring. They would still have to trek the day long hike across the Haunted Forest to reach the wall and she prayed the pain she was experiencing wasn’t labour. The last thing she wanted was to deliver the baby in the middle of a forest or on a ship. She hadn’t known she was pregnant for months and she feared she wouldn’t know she was in labour until it was too late.

The door opened and Jon entered. Dria looked up from where she sat on the rickety cot she had been given to sleep on and removed her hands from where they had been clamped over her stomach. Jon frowned at her.

“Is everything alright?” He asked as he shut the door again.

Dria forced a smile as she looked at him, “As it can be.”

Jon crossed the small cabin and placed his hands either side of her face, stroking her cheeks. “We need to talk about what happened.” He said seriously.

“If you’re going to lecture me,” Dria started, “Save it. It’s done.”

“You put yourself at risk, but you also put our baby at risk.”

“Jon.” Dria said quietly. “There is no way I was going to let you face them alone. And if I had the choice over again I would do the same thing.” She stood up and pressed herself against him as best she could, her hands on his chest beneath his cloak. “You need to learn to stop protecting me, Jon.”

Jon sighed and shook his head. “Never.” He promised softly, kissing her. She kissed him back for a moment until she felt the pain in her stomach intensify and she pulled away. “What is it?” Jon asked urgently as he watched her clutch her stomach uncontrollably.

“Nothing.” She replied as the pain subsided.

“Dria.” Jon urged, but they were interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Lord Commander,” Edd said through the wood, “We’re about to make anchor.”

“Thank you.” Jon called, his face still a mask of concern. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Don’t worry about me.” Dria shook her head and forced a smile that Jon didn’t buy for a second. “Worry about what Thorne has done with Castle Black whilst we’ve been gone.”

Jon gave her an exasperated look but another knock from Edd forced him to do his duty. Dria sank back down onto the cot, looked back to her stomach and begged the baby to stay put for another two days.

The baby had other ideas.

The journey through the Haunted Forest would have taken less than twenty-four hours, but with the children and sheer mass of people in tow was making the journey longer. Thoren handled most of the communications with the reluctant wildlings and Jon held back with her to create a bridge between their people. Dria tried not to feel jealous as she watched him laugh with the beautiful wildling.

“She is just a natural flirt.”

Dria jumped as she looked up at Tormund. He didn’t seem to see anything wrong with what he had just said. Dria glanced over her shoulder to where Thoren and Jon were walking together and thought about what Tormund had said. Jon and Tormund were quite close together, but Dria knew Jon better than that. Or at least she thought she did. He wouldn’t do anything once his child was born, he wasn’t that type of person.

But then, neither was his father.

Dria felt a stabbing pain in her stomach, worse than before, more persistent. She stopped walking and clutched her stomach. Tormund looked at her with concern and Jon stopped speaking with Thoren to run forward.

“Dria?” Jon asked, concerned. The wildlings around them started whispering. Dria brushed him away.

“I’m fine. Keep going.”

“You’re not.” Jon said. Another stabbing pain and a trickling sensation occurred between her legs. Dria knew what was happening. As much as she didn’t want it to be, it was.

“I think the baby...” She stammered, sweat covering her brow as she struggled to stay calm.

“What about the baby?” Jon asked worriedly.

“She’s in labour.” Thoren was by his elbow.

“No.” Dria shook her head. “I can’t be. It’s too early.”

“The baby will come whether you’re ready or not.” Thoren said wisely. Dria let out a grunt of pain as she felt searing pain again. “How far are we from the Wall?”

“Not far.” Jon said, his voice elated as he fought his emotions whilst trying to remain calm. “Can you walk, Dria?” 

Dria nodded, took a step and then stumbled so that Jon was forced to catch her arm.

“She can’t walk.” Thoren said.

“Here.” Tormund handed Thoren his axe and before Dria could argue he had scooped her up. “The things I do for crows.” He grunted as he began to stride onwards.

Dria could do nothing but wince as she was carried. The pain was growing with each second.

The Wall was much changed when they returned. Thorne stood up at the top of the Wall and looked down upon the wildlings as Jon waited for him to open the gate. Dria, still held in Tormund’s arms, was focusing on her breathing as the lower half of her body tightened and ached. She knew the baby wouldn’t wait much longer.

For a heart stopping moment it looked like Thorne wasn’t going to open the gates.

Then Thorne disappeared from view and the gate rose.

Sam greeted them on the inside of the gate. He looked as though he had been in a fight, something that initially concerned Jon.

“Go.” Thoren said kindly, already spreading her arms to guide the wildlings, “Do your Crow things. I can oversee this.” Jon nodded in thanks as Tormund gently placed Dria back onto her feet. Carrying her, even with the extra weight of the baby, came as nothing to him. Dria leant against the fencepost as she concentrated on her breathing. She could feel pressure pushing downwards and knew the baby was close. She breathed out through her cheeks and clutched her stomach.

“Dria?” Sam asked. “What happened?”

“She’s in labour.” Jon said curtly. Sam looked at her as she tried to “Where is Maester Aemon?”

Sam stared at him with sorrow on his face. “Maester Aemon passed away.”

There was a pause as Dria, Sam and Jon exchanged glances.

“Gilly.” Dria breathed. She was fighting the urge to cry out in pain, her brow covered in beads of sweat.

Sam nodded and hurried away.”

Jon, composing himself and knowing he needed to be a leader and not get caught up in Dria going into labour, turned to Tormund. “Tormund. Can you take Dria to her chamber?” Tormund nodded and put his strong arms under Dria’s arms, half-carrying, half-guiding her.

Thorne stood by and glared as the first handful of wildlings began to filter through the gates. Tormund stared him down as he passed.

“Crow.” He barked.

“Get the whore out of my sight.” Thorne muttered, “And her incoming bastard.” Jon looked over with narrowed eyes. Tormund growled as he passed. Dria had no thought but of that of her unborn child.

Tormund had barely placed her on her bed when she felt like she had been stabbed. She cried out in pain and Tormund stepped back in horror.

“What can I do?” He asked, but Dria was beyond answering. She had been holding back all she could but now she could hold back no longer. The baby was coming and at this rate it wouldn’t be long. It was done waiting.

As her screams filled the courtyard as Jon and Sam oversaw the wildlings traverse through the main courtyard. The brothers who watched on glared at Jon for the amount of wildlings, not helped by the sound that bounced off the walls.

Gilly hurried through the door as Tormund watched on helplessly.

“Thank you.” Gilly said, giving Tormund permission to leave.

“Gilly!” Dria managed to cry out between cries of pain. Gilly hurried to her side and climbed onto the bed, placing baby Sam down on the floor in his bundled furs. She gripped Dria’s knees and helped to unlace and lift Dria’s dress, freeing her to cock her legs as was needed and giving her the give required to do what was needed. Her pale skin was stretched taut with the baby inside her. Dria was convinced the baby was early but judging by the way she was carrying Gilly felt Dria was wrong: this seemed like a full-term baby to her, but it wasn’t her place.

“I’m here.” Gilly said soothingly. “You’re doing great. How long have you been in labour?”

“Hours.” Dria managed to pant before crying out again and leaning up on her elbows, her face contorted. “I need to push!”

“That’s good.” Gilly soothed, positioning herself so she could see. “It means the baby is ready.”

Gilly gently talked Dria through the labour. For the next hour Dria listened to her instruction, breathing as she was told and pushing down into her waist. Jon entered towards the end after the wildlings, led by Tormund and Thoren, had safely made it through. In attending Dria Jon was further defying Thorne, who had told him his kind heart would get them all killed, and the advice of Edd and Sam to be with her. He refused to be absent at the birth of his child. It may be the custom elsewhere in Westeros but this was the wall and already he had broken so many rules: what was one more?

As he entered was when Gilly urged Dria for one last push. Seeing Dria as she was, her dress open and her face red with pushing, he couldn’t help but love her. He dropped his cloak, baldric and sword by the door and hurried over to sit behind her, gripping her arms so she could use him for the strength of the final push. Her head dropped back against his shoulder as she searched for the strength.

“You can do this.” Jon whispered. Dria looked up at him for a split second before nodding and, using all her strength, pushed one last time.

The cries of their newborn filled the room as Gilly pulled him from Dria. With expert fingers she sliced the cord and tied it off, placing the squirming, bloody baby on Dria’s bare chest where Dria’s shaking hands held it fast. Snow fell outside the window as Gilly smiled reassuringly and Dria and Jon looked down at their son.

The baby quickly quietened as he lay against Dria, skin-on-skin, feeling his mother’s warmth and hearing the heartbeat he had come to know for the last nine months.

“He’s a strong lad.” Jon said as he stroked the tufts of black hair sprouting from the babies scalp. He gently pulled a fur from the bed and laid it over them both, tucking them into the warmth. He kissed Dria on her moistened forehead and smiled, happier than he had ever been. “I’ve never been more proud.”

Dria smiled weakly.

“We’ll leave you three alone.” Gilly said gently as she bundled up the bloodied sheets and picked up her own son. She gave Dria a reassuring smile as she reached the door.

“Thank you Gilly.” Jon said. “You have no idea how much.”

Gilly gave him another smile of thanks and left the darkening chamber, leaving Jon with his family. Dria laid her head weakly against his shoulder and smiled as the baby entwined his fingers around hers. His tiny mouth found his food source and he suckled with ease.

“What shall we call him?” Dria asked softly.

“You choose, my love. It’s the least you deserve.” Jon whispered back.

Dria realised she hadn’t even thought about naming the child. In her mind the birth was so far away that she still had time. Now he was here and he needed a name to prove his strength and forward thinking. Dria thought about all the strong men she knew or had known. She could name him for her own family but he was not an exotic Dauphinite. He was a northern born son of northerners and his name should reflect that. Ned? Robb? Dria thought Jon would not want to hear the names of his father and dead brother whenever he wished to speak to his son. The child had been born at Castle Black and should be named for the brave men who gave their lives for the advancing future.

“Benjen.” Dria said aloud. As soon as she had spoken it she knew the name suited the boy. Jon smiled, a little taken aback.

“Benjen.” Jon nodded and stroked the babies moist cheek. He blinked open his eyes, turquoise like his mothers, and looked up at his father. “Welcome to the world Benjen Snow.”


	25. Episode 5: An Oath Undone (Pt. 5)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **CONTAINS MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH FROM CANON**
> 
> Dria recovers from giving birth, Jon meets his fate.

Recovering from childbirth was never going to be easy, especially on the Wall. For Dria’s sake she was grateful that nothing worse than simple labour had happened and that she hadn’t torn, though Gilly did come back to check as soon as Jon had left. Sam came shortly afterwards and Dria rejoiced with him over the news that he and Gilly had consummated their relationship. She gave him advice for pleasing a woman and he marvelled at Benjen’s temperament. Benjen settled well to this life to which he had been born into. He was a quiet boy who barely mewed and fed regularly and easily as though he knew his very existence in such a place might prove problematic. He slept for most of the first weeks and allowed his mother the much needed time to recover, for which she was thankful.

Dria spent the days laid in bed or trying to bond with her baby. She found it difficult for unexplainable reasons. She had sensed whilst pregnant that it would be hard. She had not felt happy nor attached to the baby growing in her stomach. She wondered now if that was why she had been so hasty to put herself at risk. She hated herself for such thoughts, and hated herself for wishing harm to him. She did not wish it now that he was here, but it did not stop her regret. Sometimes, fleetingly, for the first time in a long time Dria felt truly happy, locked in her own world in the room. In these moments, rare as they were, she even sang, something she had not done since before that dreadful, fateful ride south. The song she sang was an ancient Dauphinian lullabye about sea-monsters and overcoming ones fears. Her father had sang it to her when she was a baby, and so she sang it to her own child. The baby cooed and yawned at her singing and she smiled, content, as she stroked the tufts of black hair sprouting from his head. So much like his father.

Looking down at Benjen it was hard to remember moments, such as an hour ago, when she had felt no connection. Gilly had told her it was normal to feel low during the post-pregnancy period as the body got back to normal. Dria wondered if she had ever had a normal. Even when her son suckled she felt detached from him. Her feelings were complicated, the highs high and the lows low. She had a hard time believing these blues would pass as Gilly had advised.

As Benjen slept Dria found her mind contemplating the situation she was in. She couldn’t hide away forever, sooner or later she would need to fight or run. She had been running and fighting for years. When she had been young and had dreamt of starting a family it had always been in a time of peace when she could raise her children without the threat of death. It seemed silly to think of those thoughts now after so many years with no alternative but fear. It was these worries that filled her mind as she tucked up her sleeping baby. He didn’t seem real and it terrified her that she might lose him at any moment. Her depression was only not evident on the rare occasion when Jon was in the room.

Jon came and went as and when he could, but even he knew it was dangerous for him to be seen getting too close to the baby. Not that his relationship with Dria was up for question after he had defied members of the Watch to be by Dria’s side. It was obvious and only fuelled the fire of the brothers growing hatred for him. He had brothers to keep in line, once he had informed them of the Night King’s powers. Sam was the only one to take him seriously. Tensions were high in Castle Black. Even without being out amongst it Dria could feel the atmosphere seeping through the thick stone walls. Jon came to visit whenever he could manage to get away but life in Castle Black was difficult for him as he put himself between Dria and his brothers of the Watch.

As though she had conjured him by simple thought the door opened and Jon entered. His arms were full of scrolls which he placed on his desk before crossing to kiss her on the forehead. At least in this room they could act like the parental couple they were denied of being elsewhere. He ran his hand through her hair and she simpered to his touch, happy to have him close to keep her from her thoughts. But the look on his face caused her to frown. He did not speak of his concerned expression but instead gently lifted the sleeping child into his arms and sat on the bed, cradling the baby close. Benjen stirred but Jon soothed him. He had his doubts about the baby, though slight, and he did not wish to burden Dria with them and so kept them to himself.

“There now, my boy.” Jon said lovingly. “My, you are growing strong.” This baby would know no hostility from him regardless of his concerns.

“How are things outside?” Dria asked as she couldn’t ignore Jon’s expression. He glanced up at her but then simply shook his head.

“We should not speak of it. It is not a concern for now.”

“When is it a concern for? Jon...”

“Dria.” Jon said curtly. “It is nothing to trouble you with, my love.”

“Jon.” Dria put a hand on his arm and he looked to her, his thoughts subsiding. He looked into her beautiful face and swallowed hard.

“Sam and Gilly have left the Wall.” He said.

Dria gasped. “Why?” She was hurt that Gilly had not said goodbye.

“They send their love but did not wish to endanger you by fuelling the hatred that fills the Wall.” Jon said darkly. Dria nodded, understanding, if still hurt. “Sam is to become a Maester, and he didn’t want Gilly and Little Sam so close to such danger.” He looked down at Benjen and stroked his feathery head softly before looking back at her. “The Night King is coming, Dria. We’ve seen him. Sam wanted to get Gilly away where it’s safe.” The tone in his voice was causing concern in Dria’s mind. She knew what was coming. “Dria...” He started but she interrupted.

“No, Jon.” She said quickly. “You are not sending me or Benjen away.”

“Dria.” Jon said exasperatedly, “It’s dangerous.”

“I don’t care. We belong with you.” She argued indignantly. “Your son cannot grow up without knowing his father.”

“He may well.” Jon swallowed.

“You’re not going to die.” She argued, ignoring the memory of her dream that flashed into her mind. “And neither am I.”

“Dria.” Jon tried to argue but Dria shook her head and took his hand.

“I fought in, and survived, a battle at eight months pregnant. I can fight in and survive whatever is coming our way.” She argued.

Jon looked down at the baby.

“Dria,” He said, this time the start of a coming question. He knew he was not to win any argument with her until he had more grounds with which to state his case, simply wanting her to leave for her safety was not going to be enough. So his mind returned to his dark thoughts and concerns about the baby. He thought carefully about how to word his question so she would not take it the wrong way. “Are you sure that you were eight months pregnant?” His voice was quiet but it was enough for her to retract her hand slowly.

“I’m sorry?” She asked, though she knew his meaning.

“Were you eight months pregnant, or were you nine?”

Dria’s heart hammered. She had not counted on him having the mental capacity to work out such things. He took her faltering as misunderstanding and so further explained.

“The baby is surely too large to have come early. He is strong.” Jon’s tone was unreadable but the look in his eyes told Dria it was alright, he understood.

She shook her head nonetheless and attempted to laugh off his questioning. “What do you know of babies?”

Jon did not laugh. He stroked the babies face as he spoke his thoughts aloud. He felt Dria needed to hear them, and it was now or never. “I wouldn’t blame you.” He said quietly, “Or Benjen,” He ruffled the babies black hair before meeting her eyes again, “If he were full term.”

There was a long silence as Dria’s eyebrows knitted together and she looked upon his face, breathing deeply as she tried not to panic. He seemed sincere in his words, and his hand reached out and touched hers to let her know it really was alright. He truly accepted the uncertainty that the baby may have been his or Gendry’s. He did not blame her.

Looking at him with the baby drove all thoughts of anything else from Dria’s mind. Dria wondered what Ned would think of his grandson if he could see him now, or Uncle Benjen of his namesake. Though there may always be the question of Benjen’s biological heritage, and her thoughts during her long, lonely hours still often drifted to Gendry, it was clear to Dria in this moment that a father was a title earned and not awarded. Watching the way Jon looked at the baby and thinking of all they had been through together, Dria knew. There was no denying Jon Snow was Benjen’s father. Gendry was dead, and if it indeed had been his seed that initially had been planted, it was Jon who would grow and nurture the baby in a man of his image. Dria could think of no-one better.

She put her hand lightly on his cheek and offered him a small, serious smile.

“He’s your son, Jon.” She said quietly. “There is nothing more to be said.”

Jon’s eyes filled with tears and he nodded slowly, leaning over to kiss her. She held his embrace as long as she could until the sound of the horn was heard in the courtyard.

Jon pulled away and frowned at the noise, handing Benjen gently to his mother and getting to his feet.

“What is it?” Dria asked.

“I’m not sure.” Jon said darkly. “Stay here. With our son.”

He left the room swiftly, leaving Dria to watch him go. She placed Benjen down on top of the furs and hurried to the window in time to see the front gate rise and Ser Davos ride in. She watched as Jon accompanied him up to the Wall so that they could talk. Davos looked as though he had seen better days, and like he had ridden non-stop. He was exhausted and his face masked in a serious expression. Dria wondered if Jon would tell him about the baby being born. It seemed Davos would need good news.

Jon came back to visit as it began to grow dark outside the window. He looked exhausted as he shrugged off his cloak and unbuckled his belt, dropping his sword on the floor. He sat heavily down on the bed. Benjen was sleeping again, tucked up in a makeshift cot beside the bed and contented. Dria stood by the fire but she crossed to him and knelt in front of him as he stared into space, his expression heavy.

“What did Ser Davos want?” Dria asked quietly, placing her hands on his knees.

“Men for Stannis’ army.”

“Does he not know how unmanned we are already?” Dria asked indignantly. Jon shook his head.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Jon?” Dria asked, concerned.

“The Lady Melisandre is here.” He said quietly as he met her eyes. Dria bristled.

“Why?”

“Stannis. Was defeated at Winterfell. His wife and daughter are dead.”

Dria gasped. She had briefly gotten to know the Princess Shireen whilst they had stayed on the Wall and she was saddened to hear of the girls passing. “Why is Melisandre here?” Dria asked suspiciously.

Jon shook his head by way of an answer.

“So Bolton remains Warden of the North?” Dria said darkly. Jon nodded. Dria put a hand on his cheek. “There is nothing you could have done.” She knew what he was thinking. “If you had gone with Stannis you too would have been killed and your son would be without a father. The Gods smile down on your decision.”

“I’m not so sure.” Jon said.

“I am.” Dria said sternly. “And I have the gift of foresight.” She offered him a smile and he partly returned it in spite of himself. She smiled back wider and kissed him on the lips softly, drawing herself up on her knees so she was pressed against him. He kissed her back, happy at the embrace.

The kiss turned hungrier as he slid his arms around her. Her hands moved up his body and before they knew what was happening he was laid back on the bed and she was straddling him, fuelled by nothing but desire and love for each other in that moment. Barely a month had passed since she had given birth but suddenly she felt able to do anything. There was something in the way they took each other that spoke of memories and a promise of their future together, whatever that may be. Their embrace was loving, ravenous and seductive all at once.

As they lay together amongst the furs afterwards, their son still sleeping metres away, Jon ran his hand down her bare arm and entwined his fingers in hers. She was still clothed in her under-dress but he wore very little. She stroked the wolf she still wore around her neck and felt his heart beating through her back as she pressed her body against his. He kissed the back of her head and whispered to her: “I love you.”

“And I you.” She replied just as softly.

“Thank you for coming back to me.” He kissed her ears as he spoke into it.

“Thank you for being here for me to come back to.” Dria replied. “My place always has, and always will be by your side.”

Jon smiled into her hair. “If I could marry you all over again,” Jon whispered, “I would do so in a heartbeat.”

There was a long pause as Dria smiled. Then Jon groaned and climbed from the bed, dressing himself again whilst she yawned and struggled to keep her eyes open, tucking the furs around her. He smiled as he watched her drift off to sleep; her face framed in the firelight, and stroked his son’s cheek as he walked to his desk. He began to unfurl some of the scrolls he had brought in earlier and sat back in his chair, content.

For half an hour or so he sat and read message after message as Dria slept soundly. Then, with barely a knock on the door, Olly burst in.

“Lord Commander!” He shouted, glancing to where Dria stirred in her sleep and blinked her eyes open. He scowled at her but ignored her to focus on Jon. “It’s one of the Wildlings you brought back. He says he knows your Uncle Benjen!”

Jon got to his feet eagerly and questioned the boy as Dria pulled a cloak around her shoulders, frowning at Olly’s words. Something didn’t seem right to her about the way the boy was speaking. She had spent enough years listening to Arya and Sansa’s lies to spot the difference. Jon was oblivious and hurried after him as Olly darted from the room with one last look at Dria.

“Stay here.” Jon said with a mixed expression on his face. Dria caught his arm.

“Jon.” She urged. “Don’t.”

“I’ll be right back.” Jon said as baby Benjen started to mew. “See to the baby.” He kissed her on the forehead and ran from the room. Dria, torn, watched the door closed and crossed to pick up her son, holding him to her and whispering soothingly. Her own heart was hammering too much to be soothing.

There was a knock on the door and Ser Davos entered.

“My lady.” He said with a bow of his head. “Is everything alright? I heard a shout.”

“I don’t know.” Dria said truthfully with a worried shake of her head. Davos crossed to the window in three strides and peered out. Benjen was fussing and it was frustrating that Dria could not run after Jon. In one move Davos gripped the windowsill. “What?” Dria asked, stopping still, “What is it?” Davos shook his head disbelievingly. Dria put down the baby and made to cross to him but he turned to her and shook his head.

“No, my lady.” His expression was darker than Dria had ever seen it. Panic rose in Dria’s chest like thick water.

“What is it?” She asked slowly, but she knew. She could hear them now: repeating the same three words over and over, punctuated by dull ‘thuck’ sounds. Dria’s eyes filled with tears and she drifted to the window, Davos powerless to stop her. It was done now, there was nothing to do. Her shaking, pale fingers gripped the windowsill as she watched the Brothers of the Nights Watch take it in turns to stab Jon in the chest. He stumbled to his knees and fell and Dria let out a cry of distress.

“My lady.” Davos said softly, putting his hands on her shaking arms. She could not move for fear and grief. This was her fault. If she had not broken his oath...

Down in the dark corner where they all stood Dria watched in horror as Olly stepped forward and delivered the last blow. Jon succumbed, dropping onto his back in the snow, blood seeping out from beneath him.

Time stood still and Dria’s heart stopped beating. Her cry of anguish rang around the courtyard.

Thorne looked up to her and grinned, his work done.

Dria turned to Davos and buried herself in his chest as she sobbed, her knees buckling so that he struggled to hold her upright. Sobs of pain racked her body as she slumped onto the ground. Davos let her drop and stumbled backwards in time to lock the door. He did not know what would happen now but he knew, without Jon, Dria and her son barely stood a chance.

Dria could think of nothing but her vision as the sight of Jon in the snow filled her mind. In the background, as in her dream, Benjen began to cry.

She had done all she could to prevent it but it had not been enough.

Jon Snow was dead.

And it was all her fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Dria. Not only is she struggling with post-natal depression but she's also now got to deal with what to do after the death of her former husband. 
> 
> I have often said that I write along the lines of canon but with a twist. This is a prime example as Jon is partly killed for the Wildlings, but mostly because he repeatedly broke his oath and flaunted it (in Thorne's eyes anyway). Benjen's birth was the final straw.  
> Dria blames herself and now, to make it worse, she may be next.


	26. Episode 6: Fragile Bones (Pt. 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon is dead, killed by his own men, and Dria hits serious depression. She can't see a way out.

Adria was numb.

It was hard to feel when all that had made her whole had been taken from her.

She didn’t hear Ghost’s howls in the night, nor Davos as he spoke to her, nor feel him as he helped her shaking, grief-stricken form to her feet. She did not respond when he picked up her son or spoke with Edd to fetch Jon’s body from the snow outside with the few men loyal to Jon. He carried the baby with him all the while, his great-grand-nephew, as Dria stood emptily in the centre of the room. She did not argue as the men carried Jon’s frozen body, already stiffening from the cold, into the room or as they cleared his desk and laid him down on top of it.

All she could do was look on.

Her lungs tightened, her eyelids fluttered minutely and her mouth was stuck in a state of shock as she looked at his glassy open eyes. A single tear escaped her eye and slid down her cheek.

She did not speak until Edd inspected Jon’s body and closed his eyes. When Edd looked to the blood on his fingers she managed to speak one rasping word.

“Thorne.”

Her word sparked a hastened discussion between Davos, Edd and the men loyal to them as they came up with a plan to fetch Ghost and barricade themselves in. Dria did not listen. She forced herself to drift towards Jon’s body and slowly laid a shaking hand on his pale cheek. She gasped at the feel of his icy skin. Just an hour previously they had been making love. Now he lay dead before her as in her vision.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered, leaning forwards and gently placing a kiss on his lifeless lips. Tears flowed from his eyes now as she cradled him. She did not hear the knock on the door nor Melisandre calling out until the red woman stood by her side. As she looked upon her, Dria’s grief turned to anger as she physically pushed the woman. “Take your witchcraft away.” She spat. “It is not needed here.”

“Dria.” Davos said softly. A nod to Edd meant Edd’s hands took Dria firmly by the arms and pulled her away. Dria did not have the strength to fight and so she let Edd sit her down on the bed and put his arm around her as she sobbed against him. Melisandre inspected Jon’s body and Dria could not stop her.

“Thorne will already began turning the men against us.” Edd said to Davos. “We are sitting ducks here.”

“Let them come.” Dria said flatly as her bright eyes dulled and she stared at the floor.

One look at her told Davos that she had given up. He looked down at the baby in his arms and knew he wouldn’t be enough. There was only so long Dria could fight. Ghost’s howls still filled the courtyard. Dria, finally hearing them, put her hands over her ears.

“Make him stop.” She begged through dry sobs. Edd disappeared from her side.

Davos stepped up to her.

“Stay strong lass.” He said gently. “I know times are hard but your barn needs you.” 

“He needed his father. It’s my fault Jon’s dead.” Dria replied numbly.

“No.” Davos urged. “No.”

“If Benjen had not been born Jon would still be alive. If I had not come to the Wall Jon would still be alive. It’s all because of me, Davos, don’t you see?” Dria sobbed.

“You mustn’t think like that.” Davos shook his head, but Dria could not believe him: would not.

Ghost came bounding into the room and headed straight to Jon. After an inspection of his masters corpse he began to whine.

“Ghost.” Dria said quietly. Ghost looked to her, then the baby in Davos’ arms, then back to Dria. He climbed up onto the bed and laid his enormous form over Dria’s knee, providing her with little comfort save that of the fact they both grieved. Edd and Davos began to argue about what to do. Dria did nothing but lose her hand in Ghost’s fur and fight the urge to burst into tears. Edd and Davos seemed unable to reach a compromise. Nothing they were saying seemed to matter.

“Fight or not.” Dria said to the floor. “We’re all going to die anyway.” She looked at them both for the first time in a long while. They waited for her to elaborate. “Jon was our leader. He drew together men who would otherwise have torn each other apart. Without him we have little chance.”

“Where is the fight I saw in you at Hardhome?” Edd asked exasperatedly. “Of all of us you have most cause to avenge...” He tailed off as Dria’s eyes fell to the floor again.

“My fight died with him.” She said quietly.

Benjen began to fuss in Davos’ arms as a sudden thought struck him. Dria zoned out again as Edd was sent away to find the Wildlings. She didn’t hear her own son crying as her eyes drifted to Jon’s corpse. She had been right: her fight had died with him, as had all other feeling. Davos managed to quieten the baby without Dria’s help, placing him down to sleep in his own bed. Dria wanted to thank him but she hadn’t the strength.She was an empty shell with no cares, no thoughts and no fears. Just emptiness. And guilt. She wondered if she would ever feel anything but guilt again. She felt broken.

Melisandre left again. Men were stationed just inside the door so that when Thorne approached they would be ready. They could hear the brothers prepared outside. All the while Dria stared into space and clutched Ghost’s fur until suddenly Ghost jumped from her knee and growled at the door.

“Ser Davos.” It was Thorne speaking through the wood. Dria raised her head as they listened. “If you surrender we will allow you to go South.” Was Thorne’s offer. Davos played with him a little, asking for food. Thorne agreed, and for a moment it seemed as though Davos would accept. Dria wasn’t sure if he was bluffing or not. Then, Thorne continued, “If you go now we will allow you to take the bitch and her fatherless bastard with you.” Thorne’s words echoed around the room and Dria felt as though she had been stabbed by them. Davos turned to Dria and shook his head as she looked at him in fear. He sent Thorne away with promise of an answer by nightfall.

“I will not leave.” He promised his niece. Dria wanted to tell him to leave her and the baby but she hadn’t the strength. All she managed was a small nod of thanks and then she rose from her seat and crossed to the desk where Jon lay. She sat on the chair beside him and resigned herself to staring at her husband’s lifeless form as though merely staring at him would bring him back. He was so cold beneath her fingers. Davos looked upon her sadly.

The time between Thorne leaving and his return passed in a blink. Those inside the room barely moved.

“Ser Davos,” Thorne said through the door. Davos, looking away from where he had once again been watching his niece, rose from his seat on the bed and picked up Longclaw from where it had been left at the wall.

“Thorne.” Davos replied.

“Have you made a decision?”

“I have.” Davos said. He drew the sword, the sound ricocheting off the walls. Dria rose to her feet behind Jon on the table. Davos gave her a small nod and she blinked in response. She knew what was coming. As Davos and the men in the room squared up to the door and Davos began to argue with Thorne, Dria made a decision. Behind her she reached out for the metal rod used to poke the fire and gripped it in her hand. For the first time in hours she felt fight flood back into her arms. She did not see how she could live on without Jon but somewhere deep within her body spoke for her.

“Very well.” Thorne concluded through the wood. Ghost growled. Moments later there came the sound of axe on the wood that made Dria jump.

“Dria.” Davos said urgently. “Take the baby. When they break through... run.”

Dria faltered, her grip on the fire poker lacking so that she nearly dropped it. She did not have a chance to move towards her son before the axe broke through. Her eyes drifted to her baby in his cot as he began to fuss at the noise. Dria knew she could run to him, hold him in her arms, comfort him, but her feet were frozen to the ground: whether by fear or shame she did not know. They were going to die. Dria looked down at Jon and felt relief that she might be reunited with him soon.

“Hold your ground.” Davos ordered as he raised Longclaw. Dria readied herself.

Then came a horn from the courtyard. They all looked to the windows as the gates burst open and wildlings flooded in. Edd led the charge and soon the treacherous brothers were bound and carried away. Dria dropped the poker on the ground with a clatter as her strength failed again and she sank onto the floor.

Before she knew what was happening Davos had hauled her to her feet and was speaking to her, though his voice was fuzzy and as though it were far away.

“... look after yourself.” Was the tail end of what was being said. Dria blinked at him with tears in her eyes. She was shaking from head to toe and it was hard to stay upright without Davos for support.

“Where is he?” Tormund’s voice came from the doorway and he, Edd and Thoren burst in. Tormund approached Jon’s body and looked down at it with a shake of his head. “Despicable.”

“Dria?” Thoren looked from Jon’s body to where Davos was holding Dria. “How are you holding up?”

Dria shook her head and began to cry. Thoren dropped her axe onto the floor and hurried over as though they had been friends their whole lives. She guided Dria to sit on the bed and handed her some water, urging her to drink.

“You must not give up.” She urged. Dria shook her head.

“Why not?” Dria asked in a broken voice.

Benjen began to cry and, after glancing to Dria, Thoren picked up the baby and quietened him whilst she surveyed Dria worriedly. She had seen this before in women who had lost their husbands. Grief was a difficult mistress.

“What will we do?” Tormund asked.

“We should prepare him for burning.” Edd said quietly.

Dria let out a dry sob at her guilt. This was all her fault. She had laid with him, she had born his son, but before that she had laid with another man and had failed the Stark household by letting Sansa and Arya suffer. She did not deserve to be here when Jon was not. With a heavy heart she looked once more to Jon’s body as the men discussed his ultimate fate. As she thought about the events that had led her to this point a sudden thought struck her clearer than any other. She hardly dared hope.

“The red woman.” She said quietly. Nobody but Thoren, still holding Benjen, heard her.

“Oi!” Thoren called so that the men would pay heed. They turned to her and fell quiet. Thoren guided their gaze to where Dria looked like a rabbit in headlights. She swallowed hard and forced herself to think straight as she remembered the thought.

“The red woman.” She repeated, her eyes seeking Davos especially. “Her God.”

“My lady?” Davos asked with a frown.

“When I was accompanying the Brotherhood without Banners I saw a priest raise a man from the dead.” She said, knowing she sounded absurd.

“Dria...” Davos said kindly. “There is no guarantee...”

“What can we lose?” Dria asked, growing stronger again. “He’s already dead.” She let out a dry sob. “He cannot die again.” She swallowed hard and looked beseechingly at Davos. She rose herself to her shaking feet so as to best appeal to him, to show her desperation. “Please. Fetch her.”

The look of despair on her face caused Davos to nod before Dria could say anything else. He hurried from the room. Beside her, Thoren stepped closer to Dria.

“You mean to bring back Jon with blood magic?”

“Not blood magic.” Dria said as she looked into the flames of the fireplace. “Something else.”

“You’ve really seen this?” Edd asked sceptically.

“I have.” She stepped up to the table and placed her hand on Jon’s head. “We have to try.”

The grief in her voice was convincing enough for those in the room to indulge her.

Melisandre agreed and accompanied Davos back to the room. As Jon’s body was stripped and the room was prepared for the ritual Thoren pulled Dria to one side.

“Dria.” She said earnestly. “If this doesn’t work...”

“Then we will burn his body.” Dria said matter-of-factly. She was finding it harder and harder with each second to not hope for Jon’s resurrection as she replayed the events of the cave and of Beric Dondarrion.

“That’s not what I was going to say.” Thoren said seriously. “You have to learn to live without him.” She said, gesturing to Benjen in her arms. “You have a son. You must learn to live for him. I have not known Jon Snow more than a few days but I know he would not want you to end your life with him.”

Dria looked at her own son in Thoren’s arms. She did not know how she could just move on. She had thought she had lost Jon before and had never forgiven herself for the way she had reacted. Now he was really gone and she would not make the same mistake. The confliction in her stomach was spreading through her veins and eating her alive. She had never known grief like this, and perhaps, when she had thought him dead before, the grief had been masked by her own logic. Now he was laid out dead before her and the evidence was plain. She could not agree to Thoren’s request.

“I am ready.” Melisandre said quietly. “Silence, please.”

The room did as it was bid as they all watched on. Melisandre’s ritual was different to that of the Brotherhood. Dria silently prayed to her own god, and the old gods, and the new, that they would bring Jon back to her. For minute after minute Melisandre tried, cleansing Jon’s body and purifying him. Dria watched with shallow breath as she could feel Davos and Thoren look at her in concern. An hour passed whilst Melisandre tried.

Jon showed no sign of returning.

Eventually Melisandre met Dria’s eyes and shook her head slowly.

“I’m sorry.” Was all she said before leaving the room.

“No.” Dria said, hurrying forwards and putting a hand on Jon’s head. “You can’t just...!”

“We’ll prepare the pyre.” Tormund grunted, nodding at Thoren to follow. Thoren put Benjen down in his cot and followed her father with a sad look to Dria. Tears were streaming once again down Dria’s dry and cracking face. She was surprised she could cry anymore. 

“You should say goodbye.” Edd suggested, leading the brothers from the room.

Davos approached the table with his hands behind his back. “It was worth a try, child.” He said softly.

“She must have done it wrong.” Dria said desperately as she cradled Jon’s head. “He has to come back...” She really thought it would have worked. All her instincts had told her it would have worked.

Davos tilted his head in pity. “Dria.” He said. “Give up now.”

“No.” Dria sobbed, resting her forehead against Jon’s. Davos gave her another pitying look before turning and leaving the room.

From the floor Ghost looked on with big eyes of regret. Dria sobbed against the forehead of her dead husband as she remembered all the times they had shared: the first time she had seen him, the first time they had kissed, their first night together, their wedding, saying goodbye, seeing him again, fighting alongside him, giving birth to their son... She thought of all the times that were to come and had now been taken from her. She raised her head slowly and brushed her hair behind her ears as she looked down at him. Slowly she planted a gentle kiss on his forehead and then leant down to whisper in his ear.

“I’m sorry.”

As she moved away her eyes fell on the vial by the bedside, the one Sam had left her to help with the afterbirth pain: a powerful painkiller that, if misused, could be fatal. Her thoughts were of one track as she reached out for it. She had never felt loss like this. Even when Gendry had been killed she had not felt it this way. She wondered vaguely if she would have felt this way had she not feared for her life. Whether it was the depression that came with post-pregnancy, or whether it was getting Jon back just to lose him once more she did not know. All she knew was that she could not go on like this. She looked down at the bottle and thought about living without him. She couldn’t do it. She wouldn’t.

It was as she made to unstopper the bottle that Ghost suddenly sat up. In the split second it took to notice Ghost’s movement and for Dria to pull the cap of the bottle, Jon suddenly gasped for air.

The bottle smashed on the floor as Dria stumbled back from Jon’s corpse.

Only, it wasn’t a corpse. Not anymore.

As his eyes burst open it was clear. He was alive. 

“Jon!” Dria threw herself down onto him in relief as he frowned up at her. Already his flesh was warm to the touch as the blood once more rushed through his veins.

“Dria.” Jon said with a frown. “What...”

“It worked.” Dria sobbed in disbelief, her hands on his face as he sat up cautiously. “The red woman... she brought you back.” She kissed him on his chapped lips as he frowned at her.

“Back?” He asked.

Dria’s eyes searched his face. “You died.” She said simply.

Jon stared at her. “I died?”

Dria nodded.

“How?” Jon’s voice was hoarse.

“That doesn’t matter now.” Dria sobbed as she clutched him close and felt his heartbeat once again. In that moment she never wanted to let him go.

She didn’t know if it was the red god, her god, the old gods or the new but somebody was looking down on them that night. Jon Snow was alive once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, serious doom and gloom in this chapter. Dria is not only battling Post-Natal Depression (or Post-Partem for our friends in the States) but also grief now too. Her mental health is shot as she contemplates what is known in the writing business as "the old Romeo and Juliet". 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with it. From now on she can start overcoming her depression and getting back to the happiness she felt in previous chapters. 
> 
> Hopefully the next chapter will be more upbeat!!


	27. Episode 6: Fragile Bones (Pt. 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon deals with the aftermath of his murder. Dria is reunited with an old friend.

Davos and Melisandre entered shortly after Dria had draped a cloak around Jon’s naked form. He was in a state of shock and she could tell. Her own state of shock was nothing compared to him. She knew she should talk to him about it, try and gauge how it had all happened, but neither she nor he could form the right words. Davos seemed to be the only one able to get through to Jon, and it was he who helped them word what they were going to say to the remaining brothers not in chains.

Convincing those loyal to Jon that he had truly returned was never going to be easy. The Wildlings were wary that he may be a God, or white walker, or both. The Nights Watch feared him as some sort of revenant. Dria was simply happy to have him back. As Jon set about speaking with Edd and Tormund Dria reconciled with her son, apologising for the darkness that had consumed her and promising to never again put him in such danger. Thoren helped her to fashion the type of sling Wildling women used to carry their babies. Gilly had used it, and it meant Dria could keep her son close in an attempt to bond with him. More and more she felt herself grow to love the baby she had birthed. Darker forces were at play in the Castle. Jon had come back to life. For whatever reason Jon was wanted by the Red God, and now Dria could do nothing to deny his existence. With her own eyes she had seen Jon resurrected. To what purpose she did not know, nor did she in this moment care. Her guilt faded and she saw clearly. As his strength returned as did hers, seeing him alive brought her new life.

Davos left them alone to help prepare for what had to be done. Jon’s wounds still smarted and she dressed them as tenderly as she could manage as they spoke of what to do.

“What will you do now?” Dria asked as she helped Jon to dress. He winced as his stiff shoulders and the injuries to his abdomen still forced pain through his body.

“What do you mean?” Jon asked.

“The Watch. Those who betrayed you.”

Jon glowered. “They will hang.” He said darkly. Dria nodded.

“I thought nothing else.” She said. “They deserve a painful death.” He shrugged on his jerkin and she laced it up for him.

“The Watch is corrupt.” Jon said. “I no longer wish to be a part of it.”

Dria stared at him, his cloak in her hands. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Jon spoke quietly, “I am free.”

“How? You took an oath.”

“My oath has ended.” Jon spoke seriously as his hands found her face. “ _It shall not end until my death.”_

She looked at him with realisation, and expression of hope filling her eyes, “Just like that, you’re free?”

“I am.” Jon said as he ran his thumb over her bottom lip, “I want to be. We can be together, Dria. Properly.”

Dria couldn’t help but smiled as he kissed her.

Outside in the courtyard Tormund and Edd greeted Jon as kindly as they could without losing face with the men who looked on in fear. Dria watched from the comfort of the balcony beside Davos as she hardly dared believe what she was seeing.

“A second chance.” Davos said quietly so only she could hear. She simply blinked in acknowledgement of his words.

Jon ordered and oversaw the executions of Thorne, Olly and the Brothers of the Watch who had betrayed him. The courtyard fell into silence with even baby Benjen keeping quiet. They all knew it must happen. As Dria stood with Davos, Tormund and Thoren and they waited for the sentences to be carried out Dria met the red woman’s eyes from across the courtyard. A small flicker of a nod of understanding passed between them. She knew the time would come for them to discuss what had happened with Jon, and perhaps even what had happened with Gendry, and why the Red God wanted Jon, but for now it was hard to think of anything else. Dria knew how difficult execution was for Jon. She could see the pain in his face as he contemplated the fate. She prayed he would not lose face in the eyes of justice. His sword came down and Dria closed her eyes rather than watch the boy swing. They deserved their punishment but it did not mean she had to watch it. Thorne and the treacherous watch swung for their betrayals and Jon walked away with a serious expression. He stopped at Edd’s side and spoke with him in a voice too quiet for Dria to hear, handing over his thick black Lord Commander cloak as he did. She knew what it was about. As he walked away he caught Dria’s eye and gave her a look that told her all she needed to know. He had handed the Watch to Edd. He was free.

As he left the courtyard she hurried after him. Nobody tried to stop her as the men and wildlings stood in silence.

Dria shut the door behind them as they entered the Lord Commander’s chambers, the baby strapped to her chest and asleep as she rocked him. Jon was hastily gathering his few belongings and barely acknowledged her. She knew he knew she was there.

“Just like that?” She asked breathlessly.

“Just like that.” Jon replied. He looked up from behind the desk where his dead body had been laid only a day before. The look on his face was equal parts intense and serious as he surveyed her. He slowly moved around the table and approached her.

“It must have been difficult to make that decision.” She said quietly. The intensity of his expression was making her nervous. She unhooked her baby sling and instead simply held her son in her arms so that she may speak plainly with Jon.

“Not at all.” Jon said as he slid his hand into hers. “It means I’m free. We can leave this place, find our own home, and raise our family.” He stroked Benjen’s head gently but his eyes lingered on her face. She felt she knew what was coming. “We can get married again.” He said softly. Dria’s breath caught in her chest as she gasped. Jon took her gasp as fear. “If you want.”

“I do.” She breathed. A flash of doubt filled her mind but she chased it out just as quickly. “Of course I do.” She let out a small laugh and put her hands on his cheeks, pulling him as close as she could with the baby in her arms.

“We can build a home.” He said, truly smiling for the first time in a long time. He kissed her deeply, holding her close as he did, but as he pulled away he frowned at her expression.

“What is it?” He asked cautiously.

Dria shook her head slightly. “Why should we build a home?” She asked slowly. “You have one.”

“Where?” Jon asked with a frown.

“Winterfell.” Dria reminded him. Jon’s eyes widened.

“The Bolton’s hold it.” He replied.

Dria shook her head and clutched his fingers tightly. “Take it back.”

Jon struggled to argue with her. He wanted nothing more than to return home, but something was stopping him. He shook his head.

“I am not Lord there. I will never be Lord.”

“Earn it.” Dria replied. “The North will rally to you. The eldest surviving son of Eddard Stark. Bastard or not they are your people. Fuck Bolton. Take back Winterfell. Build us a home there.” She faltered, a recurring thought bursting unwelcome into her mind. “Bring your sister’s home.”

Just as Jon frowned at her tone the horn on the wall sounded. They broke apart instinctively and looked to the window.

“What is that?” Dria asked.

“I don’t know.” Jon said. “Stay here.”

“No.” Dria replied as Jon made to leave the room. “I’m not leaving your side.”

“Very well.” Jon said with a small grateful smile.

As they entered the courtyard it was to the sight of three riders entering through the main gate. Dria’s heart hammered as she looked upon the youngest, her bright red hair unmistakeable. Dria let out a cry of recognition and handed the baby to Davos, hurrying down the steps before Jon could stop her. Before Jon had even reached the foot of the stairs himself Dria had flung herself at Sansa and held her close, both of them sobbing as they clutched each other.

“Sansa!” Dria held Sansa’s beautiful bruised and tearstained face in her hands.

“Dria.” Sansa replied with a sob, holding her close again. After so long apart Dria thought this moment would never have come. The girl she had been forced to abandon three years ago in Kings Landing was now a woman. She hardly dared believe it. Over Dria’s shoulder Sansa caught Jon’s eye. As Dria drew away Sansa embraced her brother. Davos descended the stairs and Dria took back her son as Jon and Sansa descended into astounded chatter.

It was established that Sansa had been through Hell and back. After she had been unpromised to Joffrey Littlefinger had married her to Ramsay Bolton. Theon Greyjoy, after betraying the Starks and setting in motion the wrath of the Boltons, had helped her escape. Brienne of Tarth, the female knight who had accompanied Sansa into Castle Black, had sworn fealty to Sansa. They sat companionably by the fire as night gathered and recounted four years of horrors that they had experienced alone. Dria could not help but stare at the girl as though worried she may simply disappear. It was delightful to see Jon and Sansa bond after so long.

“I am sorry, Jon. And Dria.” Sansa said suddenly as she watched Dria hand Jon his son. “For my actions. If it weren’t for me you would have had a marriage, children.”

“What do you call this?” Jon gestured to Benjen in his arms. “Your nephew is a child, is he not?”

“You know what I mean.” Sansa said. There were almost tears in her eyes as she needed them to hear her. “Please.” She begged, looking to Dria. “Forgive me.”

“Sansa.” Dria got to her feet and knelt before the eldest Stark daughter, holding her hands in her own. “It is you who must forgive me. I left you in Kings Landing at the mercy of the Lannisters. I couldn’t protect you and your sister. I thought Arya needed me more.” She sobbed. “But you needed me too.” She gently kissed Sansa’s fingers. “Do you forgive me? For leaving you.” A tear rolled down her cheek. Jon watched as he saw before his eyes the years of regret pour out of Dria. He had not known it had run so deep. Sansa frowned at Dria in amazement.

“Of course I forgive you.” Sansa said. “You protected Arya and got her away.”

“Until we were separated.” Dria sobbed. “I failed her. And you.”

“You did not.” Sansa clutched her tightly. “I don’t forgive you because there is nothing to forgive. Not anymore. I hated you,” Sansa swallowed as she glanced to Jon’s shocked expression and back to Dria, “For leaving me. I hated you. But then I grew up and I understood why. There is nothing to forgive Dria.” Sansa pulled her in to a tight embrace as Dria sobbed against her. “You are my sister now and always.”

Dria held on to Sansa until Benjen began to fuss. Only then did Dria pull back and wipe her eyes, getting to her feet and taking the baby from Jon. Sansa watched as Jon wiped the tears from Dria’s cheeks.

“For what it’s worth.” Sansa said quietly. “I am very sorry for my part in what father did to you two. Separating you.”

“All in the past.” Jon said, “We’re back on track now.” He stroked Benjen’s fluffy head.

“How were you reunited?” Sansa asked as she looked between them.

“After Arya and I fled Kings Landing,” Dria said more to the baby than anyone else, “We headed North with a band of men making for the Wall. A series of events meant we were forced to divert. We lost friends,” Her heart panged and Jon clutched her arm, “And Arya and I were separated. I escaped with the help of Ser Davos,” She nodded at the door that led outside, “And I made for the Wall alone. I arrived half dead and...” She tailed off as she looked at Jon.

“I broke the rules to keep her here.” He said. “Paid the price.” He sighed and clutched her fingers, “But I would do it over again.”

Dria smiled at him lovingly.

“It seems fate smiles on you two.” Sansa said quietly. “That’s the love I want. The love I thought I was going to have with Joffrey. I was a fool.”

“You were a child.” Dria sat down beside her. “With a head full of fairytales. Love doesn’t exist like that.”

“It does for you.” Sansa said with a small shrug.

Dria looked at Jon and offered him a smile but doubt clouded her mind again. “Love is not black and white, Sansa.” Dria said profoundly. “And it’s not all life is about. I am grateful for Jon and I will always love him. Love for me is finding someone who you can see yourself sharing eternity with.”

Jon smiled at her but no more words were said of their love as Sansa began to speak of Winterfell. She too urged Jon to take it back. 

Later that night, as Dria lay in the bed she and Jon now shared unapologetically, propped up as she ran her fingers gently over the healing wounds on Jon’s chest, she spoke her thoughts.

“What reason do you give as to why the Red God brought you back?” She whispered.

“I don’t know.” Jon replied honestly as he entwined his fingers around her hair. Dria ran her fingertips over his face and kissed him softly.

“Do you think you are still yourself?” She asked. Jon’s eyes met hers and he frowned. It took him a while to answer.

“No.” He said quietly, the back of his hand on her cheek. “I don’t think I am.”

“No?” Dria asked, panic rising in her chest. “In what way?”

“I think of things differently now.” Jon replied quietly.

There was a pause as Dria looked down at him. “Do you think differently of me?”

Jon’s eyes darted between hers. Slowly he shook his head. It was done in a way that made Dria worry he was not being entirely truthful. She pushed her fears down and accepted the kiss he planted on her lips. The kiss grew hungrier and he was soon laid on top of her, his hands sliding over her body. It didn’t matter anymore. He was no longer bound by oath. He could love her as she deserved, explore her body as she wanted without fear of reprisal or of being caught. She let him in, wanted him to touch her, to fuck her. It was easier to pretend, to make love, than to think about the truth of the matter.

Moons passed and still Jon did nothing but debate. Melisandre was banished from the North as Davos recounted her treachery. Her parting words to Dria were that of a warning: “The God has spoken, do not disappoint him.” Dria paid them no heed. Her focus was now on persuading Jon to take back the North. She began to train with Brienne and Thoren. The three women found that they were more than a match for the men who remained of the Watch, formidable. She was stronger now as though motherhood stiffened her resolve. She fought as well as always, if not more now that she was being trained properly. With each day Dria felt more like her old self again, the self she had been before the depression had set into her bones. She had learned to love her son and began to dream a future with Jon and Benjen. If only they could take back the North. Her thoughts of the future were clouded and she put it down to the uncertainty surrounding Winterfell. She had not been blessed with a prophetic dream for months. She wondered if it was because she was happy for the first time in a long time: they only seemed to attend her when she was frightened or in danger as though a warning. Her mind drifted sometimes to her homeland across the sea and whether she and Jon could take their son and simply sail to it. It would be easier to take back than Winterfell. No. Winterfell was where their future lay, she could feel it in her bones. Yet, it was only after a scroll from Winterfell, from Ramsay Bolton himself, arrived that Jon began to take note. The letter threatened Sansa’s life and, in a heart-stopping threat, that Ramsay had his hands on Rickon Stark, the youngest son of Eddard and Catelyn, and his own niece Oswin, orphaned daughter of Robb and Edeline.

“He won’t harm the child.” Sansa said quietly. “The one thing that her ever spoke of with any love was his sister. Oswin is all that remains.” Sansa’s voice was a monotone. “But he will harm Rickon.”

“You’re sure?” Jon said.

“I know him.” Sansa argued.

“Oswin is your niece.” Dria piped up. “And Rickon is your brother. Bran is somewhere in the North. Gods only know where Arya might be. Rickon may be the only sibling left alive. He, Sansa and you are all that remains of Lord Stark.” Dria urged. “And from what Ramsay has done,” Dria put a hand on Sansa’s, “Sansa will never be safe while he lives. We will never be safe, those loyal to your fathers legacy, whilst Ramsay runs the North.” Dria argued. She ignored the small council seated around them and appealed directly to her husband-to-be. “Jon. Your were brought back for a reason. What if that reason is for you to take back Winterfell and end this war once and for all?”

Jon’s brown eyes met her turquoise ones, wide as they were with earnest. He sighed as he glanced to Sansa and back. Slowly, he nodded.

"Ramsay has 5000 men." Sansa said mournfully. "How many do you have?"

Jon blinked at her and turned to Tormund and Thoren. "How many men would rally to you?" He asked. Tormund glanced at his daughter, who shrugged.

"Ready to fight?" Tormund replied. "2000?"

Jon shook his head. “It won’t be enough.” He said exasperatedly. “Even if the Houses loyal to my father can all be convinced it will not be enough.”

They fell into silence.

A thought pinged into Dria's mind. It was a risk, but if it could be pulled off...

“I have a suggestion.” She spoke clearly. The group fell silent so that she could speak. She looked at the eyes looking back at her and then directly at Jon. “Dauphin also holds an army of 2000 soldiers.”

The group stared at her.

"Dria," Jon said, "No. Your uncle."

"Was an old man eight years ago when he revolted. He was sickly. He won't have lasted long. Besides," She looked at Thoren and Brienne, "Maybe my people will embrace a change."

"Why would they fight for us?" Sansa asked. She did not want to get her hopes up. Jon was frowning at Dria's calm, set expression. "What have the North ever done for Dauphin?"

"They won't fight for you, it's true." Dria said with a small shrug. She looked directly at Jon again, urging him to hear her. "They'll fight for me. I'm the last child of Simeon and Romelda Tawn," She looked to Davos who gave her a small nod of reassurance, "The people were loyal to them. My father did not believe in war, and so he was taken advantage of by my Uncle. I will not make the same mistake." She looked back at Jon and he nodded along with her, hearing her at last. "Let me sail to Dauphin and take back what was mine, in order to take back what is ours."

Jon nodded again. "Very well." He said with a small smile of admiration, "Sail for Dauphin."

Dria smiled at him in thanks as her eyes met Davos. She would not be going alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The characters mentioned, Oswin and Edeline, are in reference to my other fic "The Wolf Queen". The two stories exist in the same timeline, so if you haven't read it give it a go. 
> 
> This episode has a lot of content to fit in so bare with me whilst I squish it all in whilst still not making it too long to read. Thanks x


	28. Episode 6: Fragile Bones (Pt. 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dria sails to Dauphin, returning for the first time in years to the place she was born.

In the days of preparation Adria wrestled with the decisions that she had made. She didn’t know exactly what she would find in Dauphin or whether her uncle would even provide her with an audience, but she knew she had to do something to help the cause. Jon had literally given his life for what he believed in, and now weeks had passed since Dria could gain some perspective. She had been idiotic to let her emotions cloud her mind in such a way. There was no cause for it, and it helped nobody, least of all her son. Yet now Jon had been brought back to life she felt her mind was conflicted, though she could not for the life of her put her finger on why.

Since agreeing to travel to Dauphin and raise troops for their cause Dria had barely had time to think. She felt once she was out there, when there was no turning back, she might be able to gain some perspective. Until then she was stuck wondering ‘what if’. What if her uncle was still going strong? He had always been sickly and he was aged in years but there was always the chance. Dauphin notoriously stayed out of the wars of the mainland and so nothing had been said of them since Dria had fled. She did not know what would meet her on the other side of the ocean.

Saying goodbye to Jon and Benjen was hard.

The ship to Dauphin was set to leave from Eastwatch by the Sea. It was a remnant of Stannis’ fleet, the only ship to survive, and it was more than enough for Davos to Captain. He had volunteered in a heartbeat to accompany his niece and Jon, who could not leave Westeros, was more than happy to have a trusted advisor accompanying his beloved. Davos wanted to see for himself the devastation that had been brought upon his extended family. Jon insisted on seeing Davos and Dria off from Eastwatch. It had been decided by Jon and Dria unanimously that Benjen would stay on the mainland with his father and aunt. He had been forcibly weaned as Dria’s depression and grief caused her milk to dry up and, with the help of Thoren, Dria had guided him to learn to feed on a mixture that meant Jon could care for his son without her. It was decided that the uncertainty of Dauphin might be dangerous and taking the infant across the sea would be idiotic.

The night before they sailed, as they bunkered down in Eastwatch, Jon and Dria shared one of the abandoned rooms. Eastwatch was the least guarded keep on the Wall now that they were so short of men and Jon and Dria had plenty of privacy. Their love-making was heated but it was over quickly as fear engulfed them both.

“You will come back to me, won’t you?” Jon asked as she laid on his chest and he traced his fingers up and down her arm lightly.

“Of course.” Dria whispered, her eyes leaking uncontrollably as she fought tears, “As you came back to me.”

“There are dark days ahead,” Jon said forebodingly, “I fear I will not make the right decisions without you by my side.”

Dria had not spoken her concerns aloud. The last thing Jon needed in the face of the incoming war was doubt. Dria ran her fingers over his bare chest and kissed his skin lightly. “You have previously managed without me. You will do so again.” Dria reminded him. The firelight danced in her eyes as she looked into his own.

“I can’t imagine life without you, Dria. You have always been the one person I have trusted most.” Jon said seriously. “Even when I first met you I knew there would never come a time when I did not need you.” Dria swallowed hard. She had not recounted to him that she had felt almost the same way when Jon had been laid out dead, that she had almost forsaken their son to take her own life and be with Jon. No matter the thoughts that swam across her mind she still felt the same way now: she could not imagine her life without Jon, but perspective weighed in nonetheless. Jon kissed her forehead before she could respond. “I’m sorry.” He said. “I do not mean to be so melancholy. I know I sound just like Old Nan.”

Dria couldn’t help but smirk as she was happy for the change in subject. “How Bran hated Old Nan’s stories sometimes.”

“We all did.” Jon smiled. “She was always so serious.”

“Do you not think that she was so serious because the world around her was so serious?” Dria suggested. “Perhaps it was forewarning.”

Jon let out a breath of a laugh through his nose. “I’ve been thinking.” He said as he twirled a strand of her long, loose hair around his finger. “Do you ever wonder how different life might have been if Father had never separated us.”

“Sansa’s presence is getting to you.” Dria said but she nodded. “I do.” She stroked her fingertip down his chin. She couldn’t stop her concerns spilling out her mouth. “The more I think about it the more I wonder if I was ever going to be a good wife.”

There was a small silence whilst Jon shook his head incredulously. “What on Earth do you mean?”

“Can you imagine living in a castle now with nought but our own company. There is so much world out there, Jon. The North, the East. If I had simply been your wife I would have never known how good I could be with a weapon, or if you were simply a husband how good you would have been at leading. I loved Robb and your Father and miss them everyday but if we had stayed you would have forever lived in their shadows.”

“A bastard.”

Dria nodded. “Now you’re the former Lord Commander. You’re the man who rose from the dead.”

“I never would have been murdered if we had stayed at Winterfell.”

“Who knows what would have happened.” Dria said seriously. “There is no use wondering about the past, Jon.” Her thoughts flickered briefly to her son, and Gendry. “Let’s face it. You were never going to be a Lord of anything, and I never a Lady.”

“Do you want to be?” Jon asked.

Dria thought about the last conversation she had held with Gendry back on Dragonstone over a year ago. He had asked her to be a _queen_. And she had considered it. She remembered her dream. They had called her queen then. Dria closed her eyes to clear her mind: she couldn’t dwell on it. She had not been able to prevent Jon’s death. She had not been able to prevent anything.

“No.” She said firmly, her eyes snapping open. “I’ve never wanted to be anything, really, except free to make my own choices.”

“What do you choose?” Jon asked coyly, “Right in this moment.”

Dria looked at him. She ignored all other thoughts in her mind, the memories and the doubts, and simply looked at him. The man she loved, the man who had always been there, who always would be. “You.” She said softly, kissing him to stop the conversation. They made love again in the light of the fire, and this time it lasted most of the night.

Being at sea again brought fresh life to Dria’s veins. For a day they had travelled, and she felt more alive as though the ocean itself was speaking to her. She stood looking out over port and watching the sun move through the sky. The tears had finally faded from her face. Kissing her boy goodbye had been much harder than she had thought. Whatever hostility she had felt towards the baby was fast fading and she was learning what it meant to love him. Regardless of whom his father was or his birth status Benjen was her son and carried her DNA. Above all others he was worthy of her love. Behind her she heard footsteps on the deck and Davos appeared at her side. “How are you doing?” He asked gently. He had given her space when they made berth and she was grateful.

“I’ve been better.” Dria replied sadly. She clutched her own hand for support as it rested on the wooden side.

“It’s a very brave thing you’re doing.” Davos said as he leant beside her. “Leaving your barn like that.”

Dria sniffled uncontrollably as she thought about the baby’s turquoise eyes. “It needed to be done.” Dria said flatly. “It’s my duty.”

“What duty is that?”

“To take care of the Starks.” She said. “I promised Ned.”

“Ned Stark was a good man, it’s true.” Davos said, “But I doubt he would have wanted you to separate from your own son to do so.”

Dria held her tongue. The last thing she wanted to do was argue with Davos, her only confidante now Westeros was far behind them.

“Tell me Ser Davos,” Dria said as she changed the subject and thought about the journey ahead. “What do you know of Dauphin now?” She remembered the book she had read in the chamber of the Red Keep. It seemed an eternity ago now.

“Only what I’ve heard from smugglers.” Davos said with a shrug. “Easy access, still the destination for most pilgrims.”

“And the ruler?” Dria held her breath, “Am I correct in my hope that my uncle may have passed on.”

“From what I’ve heard,” Davos said with a small shrug, “The ruler is a man named Pyrsy.”

Dria let out a small gasp as she turned to look at him. “Pyrsy?” She confirmed. Davos nodded.

“Is that of note?” He asked.

“He was but a boy when I fled.” Dria looked back out to sea. “Barely older than five. He must now be only a teenager. I hope his father did not mould him in his own image.”

“We can live in hope.” Davos said darkly.

“Perhaps.” Dria said with a small nod. She hoped the teenage Pyrsy might be more inclined to listen than his father had been. “We shall find out soon enough.”

“What is your plan?” Davos asked as he looked up at the sails. They were stripped of any identifying House sigil.

“As you said,” Dria said as she drew her cloak tighter around her, “The island is easy access due to pilgrimages.” She gave him a small knowing smile. “How do you feel about visiting the spring of truth, Ser Davos.”

“Aye.” Davos returned her small smile, “I’ve always wanted to return after so long.”

They fell into companionable silence as Dria’s mind recounted her memories of her homeland. Seven years she had been away. She wondered how it might have changed, whether the Doric columns still stood, whether anyone would recognise her now. She wondered if she would ever show Jon or Benjen where she was from. As Benjen entered her mind she spoke before she could think about her words to Davos.

“Can I confess something to you? About Benjen?” She couldn’t take it back now, her stomach tightening as she instantly regretted it. She knew Davos would not judge her and might actually be able to help, but all the same she felt this conversation would betray Jon’s trust.

“About who his father is?” Davos said knowingly.

Dria frowned at him, his response coming unexpectedly. “How do you know about that?” She asked breathlessly.

“I’m not stupid.” Davos said with a shake of his head, ”Give me more credit than that.” Dria felt sick. “I know how long a pregnancy should be. And that baby was not an early barn.” Davos’ face was kind as he surveyed her. “When I look at the boy I see _him_ in his face...” He was deliberately ambiguous but Dria knew the truth. She began to panic physically.

“Please don’t say anything to Jon. I think he has convinced himself.” She swallowed hard.

“Jon is also not stupid.” Davos let out a small chuckle, “I am sure he knows the truth deep down yet he chooses to ignore it. He cares too much for you and the child to question it.”

Dria’s eyebrows knitted together as she struggled to comprehend the thoughts in her mind. She thought confessing would have taken the strain from her, but she simply felt more conflicted. 

“Regardless.” Davos continued. “As good a father as I’m sure the Gendry boy would have made,” Dria’s heart flipped, “And he seemed a nice enough lad... Jon Snow will give that child the world.”

There was a long silence as Dria fought the urge to throw up over the side. She felt worse for having spoken her thoughts aloud, even to Davos. To know he had thought them too made her worry about Jon so far away. If Davos thought these things then Jon definitely did.

Yet one question was burning in her mind and she had to ask before the conversation died out. She had to ask, to understand. She swallowed hard in her dry mouth and asked the burning question that would bring closure to everything.

“What happened? To Gendry? How did he die?” Her voice was simply a rasp as she struggled to breathe.

Davos frowned at her, realising for the first time that she did not know the truth. He looked at her for a long time before answered. “Dria... I need to tell you something.” He began. Dria turned to him, her face mirroring the tone in his voice. She opened her mouth to ask what, to urge him to tell her, but they were interrupted by a cry from the crows nest.

“Land ho!” Came the shout that cut short their conversation.

There was no time now. Dauphin was upon them.

The island had barely changed since Dria had last seen it seven years ago. The white sand of the beach led up to enormous Grecian buildings of a white marble. Streams trickled down the cliff-face and into the saltwater below and the entire island had a tranquil feel to it. This was how it had been when Dria was a child. Gone were the flames that licked the sky, rebuilt were the pillars that had crumbled into the sea. This was an era of peace. Boat after boat docked in the harbour and dolphins freely leaped from the sea not far from shore. Pilgrims made their way to and from their vessels and high above them, at the castle of House Tawn, the blue banner of the ruling house fluttered in the sea breeze. The air was so warm after the ice of the North and sweat clung to them like film. Dria pulled her silken shawl around her face and felt the sand beneath her bare feet. For the first time in a long time she had changed out of thick woollen clothes and into soft fabric. It was suddenly as if she had never left.

“How do we get into the castle?” Davos asked by her side. He too had changed into a silk tunic.

“We simply walk in.” Dria said with a small shrug, gesturing to the mass of pilgrims currently making their way up the pale cliff paths to the Doric columned castle on the hill.

“Just like that?” Davos asked as Dria began to join the throng.

“The Spring of Truth runs through the centre,” Dria explained. Her acquired Northern accent felt so out of place amongst the rhythmic lilt of the natives. “All we have to do is walk inside. Once there I will do the rest.”

Sure enough entering the castle was a walk in the park. Much like the entire island the castle of House Tawn was simple, white and beautiful. Guards stood loosely at the doors but nobody ever caused trouble in the castle. People came with the understanding that the Goddess of Dauphin would cut them down if they so much as tried. The same could not be said for the streets surrounding the castle. There, Dria noticed, guards patrolled the streets in higher velocity than her fathers time. She wondered if it was in direct response to what was going on in Westeros.

Inside the castle was much the same. White marble and blue tapestries, guards lining the walls of both genders and armed with pikes. Dria and Davos followed the throng of people to the room to which they were shown. The floors of the castle were well worn away from years of footfall as people visited the spring. Dria fought the urge to become overwhelmed by the sights and smells that threatened to return her to her childhood, or to the night she had fled. Although looking around it was as if Jaison had never overthrown Simeon.

“Where now?” Davos whispered as the throng of people began to bottleneck. “We push through?”

“No.” Dria whispered back as she stayed Davos’ hand on his sword. Weapons were not permitted within the sacred space. “Follow me.”

She darted off to the side of the crowd as she prayed the passageway remained. She had used it as a child to listen in on her fathers meetings with the Lords. Sure enough, behind the statue of a dolphin leaping from water, Dria slid into the crack in the wall. After a struggle Davos followed and they hurried down a thin marble passageway. They slowed as they reached the end and the sound of voices could be heard in hurried discussion. Dria held up her hand to stay Davos and they listened carefully as the voices subsided. Dria did not recognise either of them. The sound of footsteps told her whoever had been speaking so angrily was leaving, and a heavy sigh told her whoever remained had just sat down. Dria pushed back the tapestry and crept into the room.

Nostalgia hit her hard as she looked around the private meeting room of House Tawn. Enormous dolphin tapestries filled the gaps between marble pillars and guards lined the walls in the telltale blue uniform. A chair of crushed seashells stood in the centre. Upon it sat a boy of around fifteen years of age. He wore golden armour and wore the dolphin ring of House Tawn on his finger. His hair was the native colour of Dauphin and he looked up as Dria came into view. He started and jumped to his feet, making to shout, but Dria held her hands up. Behind her Davos did the same.

“I mean no harm.” She said urgently as the guards stood to attention.

“Who are you?” Pyrsy demanded as he looked her up and down. He was frowning as though he vaguely recognised her, as though from a dream.

“Pyrsy?” She asked. The boy nodded slowly. Dria took a step closer to him, the marble cold beneath her bare feet. “My name is Adria.” Davos stared at her as if she were mad. Pyrsy’s eyes widened.

“Adria?” He repeated. He stepped down from the chair and drifted towards her until they met in the middle. “As in the long lost daughter of my uncle?”

“Yes.” Dria said with a set jaw. “I used to read you stories, do you remember? From the scrolls of the ancestors?” She was breathing shallowly as Pyrsy looked her up and down.

“We were told you were dead.”

“I know.” Dria replied. She was looking intently at Pyrsy. Though she had not seen him since he was a young boy there was something about him that spoke to her. He was nothing like her uncle. She could feel it. He resembled her own father in the softness of his eyes. 

There was a long pause as Pyrsy looked her up and down. Then, sensing she was not a threat, in a movement that made Dria flinch slightly, Pyrsy raised and lowered his hand in an order. The guards relaxed back against the walls and Davos breathed out.

“Welcome home.” Pyrsy said.

“Thank you.” Dria said with a small smile. “It has been a long time coming.”

After hours of catching up in which Pyrsy told Dria about how Jaison had gone mad at the thought of what he had done to his own brother and ultimately killed himself two years previously, since which time Pyrsy had tried to restore the island, and Dria recounted the basics of her adventures on Westeros, they sat companionably at the long table in the throne room. Davos, still on edge, barely spoke as he watched them interact.

“What brings you here after all this time?” Pyrsy asked as he poured himself more wine. It was growing dark outside the window now and the last pilgrims were leaving as the castle was shut for the night. “It sounds like you have more of a life in Westeros than you could ever hope for here, what with a baby and a betrothed?” Pyrsy sounded almost jealous as he poured Dria more wine also. Davos waved a hand in refusal.

“I have no desire to return to Dauphin.” She said, watching the flicker of gratefulness pass through Pyrsy’s eyes. “You are right in that Westeros is where my life is now.” Dria fingered the rim of her glass thoughtfully. “But my life in Westeros is in danger.”

“Oh?” Pyrsy asked. “How?”

“When I fled Dauphin,” She swallowed hard as they both shifted awkwardly, “After my mother was killed, I washed ashore in a place called White Harbour. It’s in the North.”

“I know it from my world maps.” Pyrsy nodded.

“I was taken in by my betrothed’s father, Lord Stark.”

Pyrsy’s eyebrows raised impressedly. Lord Eddard Stark was legendary the world over.

“Lord Stark did not have to do anything for me. But he did, making me ladiesmaid to his daughters. He died before I could repay him for his kindness.” Dria said sadly as she looked down at her glass. “One by one his family have been massacred or banished. Now an evil Lord resides in the Stark seat. He raped Lord Stark’s daughter and holds his son captive.” Pyrsy’s eyebrows raised in concern as Dria met his eye, “My Lord is in need of you.” Dria reached out and took Pyrsy’s soft hand appealingly, her eyes big. Pyrsy did not pull away from his cousin as he looked back at her.

“Oh?” Pyrsy asked with a frown. “How can we help?”

“You have men. Or... you did.”

“We do still.” Pyrsy said with a defiant nod. “They follow me as they followed your father.”

Dria couldn’t help but smile slightly at his words and the loyalty he placed in them.

“Send them to Westeros.” Dria asked slowly.

Pyrsy looked at her deeply for a long time.

“Cousin,” He said eventually, speaking slowly as he pulled his hand awkwardly from her grip. She swallowed hard. “You know Dauphin does not...” He began regrettably. Dria interrupted him.

“Get involved, I know.” Dria said with pursed lips. “Pyrsy, I wouldn’t have risked coming back here if Jon wasn’t desperate.” She moved closer to him, desperate for him to hear her. “For the love you bore my father, your uncle, avenge the man who saved my life by helping me pay my debt to his memory.”

There was another long silence. Then, slowly and with a clenched jaw, Pyrsy nodded.

“Alright.” He said. “Dauphin will answer.”

Dria let out an incredulous gasp.

“Thank you.” She breathed, her eyes filling with tears. “How can we ever thank you enough?”

“That is not necessary.” Pyrsy smiled at her. “Call it a debt paid.” He kissed her hand with a twinkle in his eye. “For your father.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just felt like writing a bit of wholesome content before the incoming horror of the battles to come.


	29. Episode 6: Fragile Bones (Pt. 4)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lead up to the Battle of the Bastards reveals some truths and secrets that could cause problems further down the line.

Davos set sail the next morning to carry the news to Jon. It was decided Dria would stay behind for a few more days whilst the army was amassed to break bread with them and earn their trust. They bore great love for Pyrsy after he had liberated them from his own father and so were willing to trust his judgement on the stranger with the Northern accent. Were it not for her turquoise eyes, the eyes of House Tawn, they would not have paid her mind. Dria listened as they spoke in the council that Pyrsy called and gradually won them over with her intelligence and patience. The army were not large but they were proud. The officers provided for Dria by Pyrsy were of both men and woman and had spent their lives training for such a moment. Dria wondered if she could have been amongst them had she not fled Dauphin, or whether her future would have been in duty and not adventure. Westeros had taught her much it seemed. Dauphin now in existed as a peace state since the civil war, but the men and women were nonetheless meticulously trained following the uprising.

It was as Pyrsy walked Dria up and down the lines of soldiers in blue and golden armour that Dria noticed a notable absence.

“Who is the commander?” She asked as they circled around to the beginning. “This many men should have a commander, surely?” Her eyes sparkled as she looked at Pyrsy, wondering if it were to be him. But Pyrsy had already told her he would be remaining on Dauphin.

“Commander?” Pyrsy looked at her as though she were crazy.

“Yes.” Dria frowned at him before looking out over the soldiers in front of them. They seemed to be waiting for something as they looked up at them, the officers with their stony expressions waiting for the penny to drop.

“But cousin,” Pyrsy frowned at her as though it were obvious, “The commander is to be you.”

Dria stared at him. “What? I can’t be.” She shook her head. “I don’t know how to command armies.”

“Maybe don’t admit that.” Pyrsy said with a chuckle, but his smile faded as a serious expression took hold. “I have spoken with the officers extensively. They will follow you into battle, any battle. You are the blood of Simeon Tawn, a daughter of Dauphin. These are your people, Dria. You trained alongside many of them as a girl.” Dria caught the eyes of a few soldiers who were looking at her expectantly, “But you are also a daughter of Westeros.” She turned back to her cousin. “You know the terrain upon which they will fight. They will trust your judgement and lay down their lives for you.”

“Just like that?” Dria asked breathlessly.

“Just like that.” Pyrsy nodded. “That is how democracy works. They trust me, and so they will trust you. Give a command.”

Dria swallowed hard. All the fear suddenly ebbed away as she looked out over the soldiers in front of her. They were waiting for her to speak and the atmosphere in the room could have been cut with a knife. Dria’s heart pounded in her chest as she tried to remember what she had heard from armies she had witnessed. There was a pause as she composed herself. Then, with all the command that she could muster in a tone that surprised herself, she shouted: “Company!” Her word was instantly returned with the sound of armour as the company stood to attention. Even the officers followed her order. “Fall out. We sail at dawn.” Officers ricocheted her commands in a ripple around the courtyard, and with that Dria had become the commander of the Dauphinian army.

“You’re a natural.” Pyrsy said in a hushed voice beside her. She turned to him. For so long she had been unable to trust anyone but her own cousin had shown her how.

“Thanks to you and your faith in me.” Dria replied with a small smile.

“Once this Jon Snow has taken back his home what will he do?” Pyrsy asked as he and Dria began to climb the steps back to the temple.

“I don’t know.” Dria replied heavily. “I doubt the Gods will allow us peace. I will return your army to you though.”

“Keep them.” Pyrsy said. Dria frowned at the sparkle in his eye.

“I’m sorry?”

“Keep them. Your Jon Snow may have use of them still.”

“What do you mean?” Dria asked. 

“I have heard whispers,” Pyrsy explained, “Of a woman in the East who calls herself the Dragon Queen.”

“How do you know this?” Dria asked with a frown.

“The joys of being a pilgrimage island.” Pyrsy shrugged, “People come from all over.”

“Dragon Queen?”

“She is a Targaryen. She means to sail for Westeros and take the Iron Throne.” 

“Targaryen?” Dria asked with surprise and admiration in her voice. She remembered the story she had borrowed from Maester Aemon, the one that she had idolised. “I thought that they were all dead.”

“Apparently not.” Pyrsy said. “My advice to you, cousin, and your husband-to-be is to keep the army and any you can amass. Once the Dragon Queen reaches Westeros you may be in need of them.”

Dria thought about Pyrsy’s warning as she sailed for Westeros on one of the many ships the army had provided. They took a different journey to that Dria had taken on her journey here, so as to avoid seas that may be under Bolton jurisdiction. On the way to Dauphin it had been easy enough to pass undetected as a simple merchant vessel but now they were accompanied by two thousand soldiers in golden armour. Prysy had bid a warm farewell to Dria and asked her to tell her son that he would always have a place on Dauphin, his ancestral seat by birth. Dria had thanks Pyrsy and returned a wish that he would find a wife and continue the family name: she had little use for it anymore. Pyrsy was a good ruler and his people loved him. Dria was content to learn that her home was saved. Pyrsy did not favour his father in the slightest and she was astounded that such kindness still existed in such a world.

Her thoughts ruled her mind as she spent hours in the commanders quarters thinking of the life she was returning to. The happy future with Jon and Benjen once they had taken back to the North seemed to be getting further and further away. If this Dragon Queen made it to Westeros it would all be different. Distance from Jon only made Dria think of how different life could have been if she had simply run away with Gendry and the Brotherhood without Banners as she had originally planned. She considered where Arya might be now and whether she was even alive. Finding her would be her priority after they took back Winterfell. She made a silent promise to Ned and Catelyn Stark as she looked out over the water that she would return the Starks to their home. She thought about Bran and where he might be, and poor Rickon in the hands of the Boltons. She tried not to think about what Ramsay Bolton might be doing to the boy. She suddenly felt sick and for the first time in her life was seasick over the side of a boat. She wiped her mouth with the back of a shaking hand and tried not to think what her mind threatened to make her think. Not now.

“I knew your father.” A voice came from beside her. Dria turned, dragged from her thoughts, to see Delmar, the officer and her second-in-command. He was the one who could have caused the most problems for her as commander of the army but he, like Pyrsy, had chosen to trust her. “He was a good man.”

“I remember you.” Dria said with a shaking voice as her stomach twisted again. “You always seemed so tall.”

“To a young girl I suppose I was.” Delmar chuckled. “Sea sick?”

“I suppose it comes from spending so long on land.” Dria said.

“My wife was Westerosi.” Delmar said. “She never enjoyed being at sea either. Like your own mother.”

“Sometimes it’s hard to find anywhere I belong.” Dria said honestly, then realised she probably shouldn’t have. Delmar simply chuckled.

“I was there when your father died.” Delmar said heavily. Dria gulped. “When his cowardly brother put out his...”

“Please.” Dria said weakly, holding up a shaking hand. 

“Sorry, my lady.” Delmar said as he leant beside her. “I just wish you to know that I did all I could.”

“I thank you.” Dria said.

“And I will do all I can to serve his daughter. Dauphinians are loyal people. It is our one ruling trait.” Delmar looked out over the sea. “We will serve you well.”

“Even though I am a woman?” Dria said.

“Gender means nothing to us. All that matters is that you can fight. Can you fight, my lady?” Delmar narrowed his eyes a little.

“I have lost count of all the lives I have ended in battle.” Dria said darkly.

“I’ll bet Westerosi’s are taken aback by your gender.” Delmar chuckled.

“Yes.” Dria said with a small smile, “Most regimented Southern armies are repelled by a woman with a sword. Those North of the Wall are used to it. There are a few of us now, Westerosi women in command.”

“I am glad to hear it.” Delmar said, “I never did understand why a country would reject half of their force simply because of what is between their legs.”

“You could show Westerosi’s a thing or two.” Dria smiled at him. “If they had their way we would all be married off and producing children and that would be that.”

“And you do both?”

“Yes.” Dria said heavily as she ran a hand over her stomach. She was still wearing her Dauphinian robes beneath her thick Westerosian cloak.

“You have been lucky in that regard?” Delmar questioned, “Finding a husband who will allow you to be true to yourself?”

“He would rather I cared full time for our son.” Dria clutched her sore stomach again as she felt a maternal pang for Benjen, “But he knows I am capable of being mother, wife and warrior.”

“He seems to be a diamond in the rough.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” Dria chuckled. “He’s more than a little rough.”

“Is he a good man?” Delmar asked. “Are my men following a good man?”

“Yes.” Dria said firmly. Though her love for him was often complicated and more often than not she wondered if it was real she was sure of one thing: he was a good man.

“That is all I needed to hear.” Delmar said. He nodded his head at her curtly, “Commander.”

Dria watched him walk away before turning to where the Westeros shoreline was visible on the distant horizon. She hoped she would stop feeling so conflicted someday soon. Though she knew it would not happen.

Jon was waiting for them at the harbour when they made port. He was alone in command with only a few soldiers to accompany him, not even their son. When Dria questioned it he explained Davos, Sansa, Tormund and Thoren were busy with their troops at the camp not too far away and that Benjen was in the care of his aunt who had bonded with the infant. Dria found herself flinging her arms around his neck and kissing him with happiness to see him again, all worry of her confliction fleeing her mind. He kissed her back before holding her at arm’s length.

“Davos has told me of your triumph.” He sounded as if he would burst with pride, “Two thousand men.”

“Is that enough?” Dria asked.

“It will mean the difference between a chance and defeat,” Jon explained as the ships began to empty of soldiers, “The latter of which we would have faced without you.”

“I did nothing.” Dria replied.

“You faced your fear and came back with an army,” Jon shook his head disbelievingly at her, “If we win this battle it will be because of you.” A pause as Jon scanned the army amassing behind her.

“Who is their commander?” Jon asked.

Dria hesitated as he frowned at her. She offered him a small smile. “I am.”

Jon’s eyes widened. “What?”

“I am their commander. They answer to me.”

Jon stared at her for a long moment and then smiled with another shake of his head. “I have never loved you more.” 

Dria felt her stomach flip and she knew there and then that her suspicions were true. She wondered whether she should tell him, whether now was the moment, but instead she simply swallowed hard at his words and turned to the army standing on the sand as they waited for her order. Now was not the time for truths. She wondered if a day would ever come where she could impart such happy news without a feeling of sorrow, panic or regret.

The next few days passed in a blur as armies amassed from all great Houses of the North still loyal to the Starks. Dria allowed herself a few hours to bond with her son and to confirm her suspicions before taking up her newfound duty as commander of the Dauphinian army. Delmar and Davos spent many long hours strategising how best to utilise their combined forces as Jon grew steadily more unstable at the battle to come. Dria felt now was not the time to reveal her secret to him, the one that she had made on the voyage back from Dauphin and had been growing steadily in her belly since before Jon had given his life for the watch.

As night fell on the sixth day Dria sat in the tent she shared with Jon and cradled her son, gazing down at him and trying not to think of what she would do with another. Benjen gazed up at her with adoring eyes which grew droopier as he slipped into a deep sleep, his chubby little fist wrapped around her finger. He had grown strong over the last few months and their maternal bond had only grown with the distance, perhaps because of the promise of a sibling and the changes happening in Dria’s body. She knew the signs now, she recognised them. Now was not the time. Once the battle began Benjen would be taken far away with his aunt Sansa and kept safe, regardless of what happened to his parents, but she could do nothing about the life growing inside her. As Dria set down the sleeping baby on the bed Jon swanned into the tent with snow in his hair, dressed in his furs and wearing an expression of exasperated anger. Dria looked up as Jon entered, watching as he crossed straight to the table laden with charts and strategy plans, lost in his own world and not saying a word to her. The wind outside was howling and darkness had gathered around them like a shroud. With a concerned expression she crossed to Jon and stood beside him, waiting for him to notice her. When he didn’t, so lost in his thoughts was he, she gently laid a hand on his arm. He looked up briefly, and then returned to the plans. There was another pause before he spoke, his voice heavy and dark.

“He wants to meet.” Jon said. Dria’s blood ran cold. Above all else she knew what he meant: it meant he wanted to weigh up his competition, look for the weaknesses. From all Sansa had told them this was the worst thing he could be allowed to do, but Dria also knew how much it needed to be done for the good of the cause. She felt torn apart by the duties and requirements of being in command: she knew now.

“You have to meet him.” Dria said, her voice much calmer than she felt. “You have to meet the man who has brought such horror to your family. You have to know what to expect. Take away his element of surprise.” She put a hand on his. Jon met her eyes. For the first time he wasn’t looking at her as a woman he loved but as an advisor, a commander in her own right. He was so proud of how far she had come but he also felt pained that she would need to endure all of this.

“I will meet him.” He said with a defiant nod. “I will ride out with my trusted advisors. I will meet the monster, and I will call his bluff.”

Dria froze. “Call his bluff?” She asked, her voice wavering. “Jon, you don’t mean...” She faltered. She knew exactly what it meant.

Jon noticed this and his whole stance softened. He leant against the table and took her hands, pulling her in front of him, his lover once again and the advisor slipping away. His thumbs stroked hers as he thought of his words.

“I have to, Dria. It’s my duty.” He met her eyes again, “I can save countless lives if he accepts. Him or me. That’s all it needs to be.”

Dria swallowed tears. She knew the old way. She knew of the honour that dwelled in her husband’s heart. She knew he would do anything to avoid bloodshed. Gently, she laid a hand on his cheek.

“I will come with you.” She said.

“No.” Jon said. “I need you to stay here. With Benjen, where it’s safe.”

“Nowhere is safe.” Dria replied. “I’m not just your wife, Jon, or just mother to your son. I’m a commander now.”

“I know you are, my love.” Jon said heavily, “And I am so proud of you. But...” He sighed. “It’s not that I don’t want you by my side, I do. I just... I don’t want you to watch if he accepts.” Jon argued. “Watch him and me...”

“I want to.” Anger fuelled her voice. “I want to be there for you, whatever happens. By your side.”

There was a long moment in which they simply looked upon one another, former and future husband and wife, years of pain and torture weighing heavy in their eyes.

Eventually, slowly, Jon nodded. She stroked his cheek with her thumb, feeling the tiredness urging through him. He leant forward and rested his head on her shoulder, his arms wrapped around her.

“I don’t think I could have done any of this without you.” He said. Dria kissed his neck gently, tears rolling down her cheeks. She had never seen him this vulnerable. Here in her arms was the man she had loved for so many years, the man who had been through so much. All she wanted was to take his pain away, make it all stop so that they may be left alone to live in peace. Being given command meant nothing when she couldn’t do this for him. He would never find peace until their enemies were vanquished. Instead, as she had always done, she held him as he took strength from her. Now was not the time for revealing secrets or for doubt. He needed to know she was there for him, as she had always been. When they made love that night she was careful to keep him from feeling her stomach. The last thing he needed was that worry too.

The next morning was dark and cold as they rode out to meet Ramsay Bolton on the hilltop. For the first time they laid eyes on the monster who had caused Sansa so much pain, who had laid waste to the land they had once called home, who had devastated the good name of the North. He was a smaller man than Dria had expected but nonetheless intimidating. His smile was that of a hound about to devour a baby. Dria watched as Ramsay taunted Jon, calling him a bastard when he himself had once been one, and as he insulted Sansa. Dria’s blood boiled as she sat astride her horse beside her Lord and husband-to-be. But she kept her mouth shut. Jon asked Ramsay to fight one on one as Dria had known he would. Ramsay was amused by Jon’s desperation, but ultimately was too cowardly to accept. Dria smirked a little as she knew why Ramsay was refusing, she had seen it in all of the brothers of the Watch who had murdered Jon Snow: he was a coward. He had shown weakness at his refusal, and to brush it off he turned to Dria. Sadistic fire burnt in his eyes as he sized her up and her smile turned to an expression of stoic defiance. His smirk returned as he met her eyes.

“Ah. You’re the bastard lover, I believe? You’ve made quite a name for yourself, haven’t you? Rather like myself. Rose from nothing, took what you wanted and live unapologetically. How does an orphaned refugee go from that to commander of a foreign army? There is much to be said of the power of your loins.” Ramsay snickered and Dria twisted her hands on the reigns of her horse. Jon breathed out through his nose but Dria shook her head at him. She could take whatever Ramsay threw at her. “Are you here to support your husband? How sweet.” Ramsay smirked in a way that made Dria worry. “Though I hear that powerful pussy of yours has strayed, my lady.” Dria stared at him, wondering how he could possibly know that, “We’ve all been there. Who wouldn’t want a piece of it?” He laughed and his soldiers laughed along with him. His eyes burned into her. “I’ll tell you what... if you decide midway through the battle to switch sides and go for the winning man, my bed is always open. I promise I won’t hurt you...” He sneered, “Much.”

Dria snapped. She had listened to Ramsay insult her husband and her sister-in-law and had taken his comments in as fuel, but now she could feel the fire burning inside her and she needed to speak, to put him in his place. She had spoken before she could stop herself.

“I’ve had worse than you inside me.” She said.

The field went quiet. Most eyes turned to Dria, shocked by the anger in her voice. Only Jon looked down at the neck of his horse. He knew what she meant. He had cradled her on those long nights as she wept over her past. He wanted to look at her, beg her not to reveal it, but he knew she would shoot him down. She was using her weakness as power and he was not going to stand in her way.

“Oh?” Ramsay asked, amused by the statement. “I didn’t think they came much worse.” He smirked, his eyes sparkling as he made his men laugh along with him again.

“Sorry to disappoint you, my _lord_ ,” Dria said with thick sarcasm emphasising his title, “But before you stabbed and fucked your way to where you are another was doing just that. And they don’t come much worse than Tywin Lannister.” Dria said, glaring at him. She did not look anywhere but his face. She knew people were looking at her, muttering about her, but she cared only for his expression. A ripple of mutterings filled the field as, for a moment, his expression faltered: he actually seemed impressed. To cover his falter, he turned back to Jon.

“How does it feel to bed Tywin Lannister’s sloppy seconds, bastard?” He asked. “I thought Tyrion Lannister’s were bad enough.” Ramsay laughed to cover his falter. Dria smiled slightly as she knew she had got to him. She could feel Jon glancing at her before he clicked his horse.

“I’m tired of this.” Jon said, cutting Ramsay off and turning his horse.

“The next time I see you, bastard,” Ramsay shouted after them as Dria followed Jon, “I will see just what it’s like to fuck the bastard lover!”

Dria ignored Ramsay as they rode away and Sansa’s final warning to Ramsay echoed in the air. She knew they had got to him. He had shown his true colours in this conversation, and they would win tomorrow.

After Jon held a meeting with Thoren, Tormund, Davos, Sansa, Delmar and Dria they were all dismissed so that Sansa held counsel with Jon alone. As night drew in Dria walked with her son and thought about what was to come. Benjen cooed in her arms as she looked down to him.

“Whatever happens my boy,” Dria said quietly, “You must always know we did all we could. Whether you are to be the future heir to Winterfell or Dauphin, or whether you will forever be a bastard does not matter. All that matters is that I love you, and your father loves you.” She faltered herself as she felt a sob rise in her chest, “Someone will care for you and tell you stories of us, your parents. You will never forget us.”

“He will have no choice,” Davos’ voice came from the shadows. He stepped into the firelight as Dria looked up, “Wherever Benjen Snow goes he will hear stories of his mother and of Jon Snow.”

“His father.” Dria corrected quietly. Davos swallowed hard as he looked at them both.

“Dria,” He said cautiously.

“I know what you’re going to say.” Dria said urgently, her breathing heavy, “Don’t. Jon Snow is his father regardless of who gave him life. I have told you this countless times.”

“I am not denying Jon Snow would make a loving father and would forever treat Benjen as his own.” Davos’ tone almost sounded begging as he stepped closer to her. “I’ve watched you for weeks Dria. I know you love Jon with a love so deep it cannot be put into words. But I do not think it is true love. It is a love born of circumstance, companionship and...” Davos tailed off as Dria stared at him. For the first time she had heard her feelings explained properly so that she finally understood them herself. “I know you would do anything for Jon. But I saw the love you bore the Baratheon boy, too. The love you have carried in your heart for so long. That was true love. I saw how you grieved for him, how you still grieve for him. That was not a love born of circumstance, that was the love of two souls who are meant to be together.” Davos’ voice was slow and serious, “And I cannot in good conscience ride into battle beside you tomorrow without you knowing the truth.”

“I know the truth,” Dria found tears thickening her voice and tightening her chest, “I know I’m a whore, jumping from man to man...”

“Two men does not make you a whore!” Davos argued, “You had your reasons, your beliefs, and you are no lesser of a person for loving two great men. But Dria,” He looked at her tentatively.

She waited a few moments before replying, Benjen squirming in her arms. He was already so big, his hair so dark. She stroked his face with her cold hand and he fussed. “I know Benjen’s father, his _biological_ father, is Gendry Waters. I know, and I always have known since I knew I was carrying him.” She looked down at Benjen as she let out shaking breaths and then turned to Davos with thick tears in her eyes, “But Gendry is dead and nothing can change that, so what difference does it make now?”

“Every difference.” Davos said. “The truth of which I speak, Dria...” Davos was almost whispering now, “Is that Gendry did not die at Dragonstone.”

There was a long silence as Dria stared at her uncle. She felt like she had been punched in the gut, the throat and the heart all at once.

“What...” She breathed. Her chest rose and fell as she began to hyperventilate. “No... the red woman... she...” She was panting desperately as she clutched at Benjen.

“I helped him escape.” Davos said calmly, though tears stung his own eyes. “In a rowboat. The night after I sent you away.”

“You knew all this time. You watched me grieve...” Tears flowed from her eyes as she shook her head at him. “And you said nothing.”

“It was never the right time.”

“Never the...” Her throat cut out as she looked down at Benjen. Her head was spinning and she felt sick. She closed her eyes as she forced her mind to calm. Her thoughts filled with Gendry and she felt like she was falling, spiralling down a black hole. Benjen began to fuss in her arms and she rocked him, desperately humming the lullaby she had heard Catelyn sing to Rickon. _The Starks_ , _Jon, Winterfell._ She had a duty.

Her eyes snapped open as she made a decision. In that moment her body felt calm as she breathed out. She looked to Davos as he looked back at her in concern, but she felt nothing. Her mind was made up.

“Thank you for telling me.” She said as she rocked Benjen, the whirlwind over. “But I have grieved for Gendry. For near enough two years now I have grieved... and I have let him go. There will always be a place for him in my thoughts, my heart, my son’s face... but he is gone in every other regard. If he is alive he is gone. Far away, who knows where. Jon Snow is here. It may be _circumstantial_...” She narrowed her eyes at Davos, “But he needs me now and I do love him deeply.” She swallowed hard. “I will not forsake him for the sake of a man I once love...” She faltered, “A dream.” She sniffed to stop herself from crying again as she looked down at Benjen.

“What about the baby?” Davos asked quietly.

“Benjen will know no different. Gendry will mean nothing to him, the man who gave him life in a moment of passion, Jon can give him a future. Even if we die tomorrow... Jon has friends, family, who will give him what he needs. That is all I care about. A future for my son.” Dria spoke defiantly and it took Davos a moment to argue.

Davos shook his head at her. “What about your own happiness? I know you love Jon but what about that part of you that will always carry Gendry.”

“It’s dead.” Dria argued. “It has to be. Do you hear? Jon cannot do this without me. I cannot afford to dwell on the past or on what might have been because it isn’t what is. What _is_ is a horribly outnumbered battle that can only only lead to certain death.” She shook her head. “I thank you for saving Gendry’s life and I hope wherever he is he is happy but I have to be here, now, for the man I married.”

Dria watched as Sansa stormed out of Jon’s tent. Her eyes slid back to Davos.

“If you’ll excuse me, Jon needs me.”

Dria began to walk away towards the tent as Davos called after her.

“But you will forever love him?”

There was a pause as Dria stopped walking. She did not turn to Davos as she replied in a quiet voice: “Yes, I will.”

She continued in the direction of the tent as Davos watched her go, his conscience clear. He walked away with a heavy head as she and her son disappeared into the tent.

Dria entered the tent cautiously. Jon was once again hunched over the strategy board with a frown set firmly on his face. Dria closed the tent flap, put down her son in his bed, and crossed to Jon with her mind buzzing with her conversation outside. She had to push it all down. She placed her hand on his face gently and kissed just below his ear. He moved his head minutely in response, but did not look up.

“Sleep, my love.” Dria said.

“I have to decide our plan of action.” Jon replied, shortly.

“Was that not what the council was for?” Dria reminded him softly.

Jon shook his head, “It wasn’t enough.”

“Jon.” Dria said. Her conversation with Davos had made her want nothing more on the brink of battle then to lie with Jon and make love to him. She knew neither of them would sleep tonight. “You’ve done all you can.” She said, gently. “Come to bed.”

“I can’t.” Jon replied, shortly.

“What good is stressing all night, honestly? What will happen will happen, Jon. Worrying won’t make it come any easier.”

“You should go to bed.” Jon said.

“No. If you are not, I am not.”

“Dria..”

“No Jon.” Dria replied. “I am not leaving your side. Not now, not ever. I have left you before and I swore I would never do it again.” 

“This is battle, Dria. It is most certainly death. We have to be prepared, we can’t just...” He looked at her. “I don’t want to be worried about you out there.”

“You don’t have to.” Dria shook her head. “I am riding out with you tomorrow and I will fight by your side. And if we are to die we will do it together. ‘Until the end of my days’, remember? You left be behind last time. You won’t leave me behind again.” She gave him a small smile and he returned it minutely as he looked at her. He looked at her for a long time, working over everything she had just said. Then, suddenly, he kissed her. He kissed her more passionately than he had for a long time. She kissed back, holding him close to her, feeling his body pressed against hers.

“Alright.” He said. “Together.”

With a smile she kissed him again. He kissed her back, and then his kiss moved from her lips to her neck, then down her breasts as he fumbled with her riding trousers. It was too cold to lie together naked, at least, that’s what she had told him. Now was not the time for revealing secrets.

It must have been the early hours of the morning when Dria rolled out of bed. She moved cautiously and quietly so as not to wake her sleeping husband. As she pulled on her fur cloak she looked down at him, his body highlighted in the rays of the fire. All of his scars were reflected, the stab wounds from his death, the marks from battles. She felt content in her choice, though something about Davos’ revelation weighed on her mind. She shook her head to clear it. She couldn’t think about Gendry now. She had a job to do. Quietly, she sneaked out of the tent and headed in the direction of Melisandre.

Melisandre was sat in her chair in her own tent gazing into the flames. Dria entered unannounced behind her and it seemed as though she didn’t hear her, but then Melisandre spoke.

“Dria Tawn.” She said without looking up.

Dria didn’t speak. Instead, she pulled up her sleeve and headed forward determinedly, holding out her arm to Melisandre, flesh on show. Melisandre looked at it, bewildered.

“Take my blood. Use whatever future-seeing power you think I have, whatever you were going to take from me back on Dragonstone. Ask your God whether we will win this battle or do whatever you have to in order to make it happen.”

Melisandre slowly moved her eyes to meet Dria’s. She reached out a hand and touched Dria’s cold arm with her warm fingers. Slowly, she moved the arm closer towards her. Dria’s heart pounded as she watched. However, despite the slow movement, all Melisandre did was lightly kiss the exposed flesh and then push Dria’s arm away.

“You should rest.” She said, looking back at the flames. “You will be in battle soon. You need your strength.”

“Why won’t you tell me what your God has in store?” Dria demanded. “I know Gendry got away.” Dria said, “That is why Stannis was defeated. Because you could not work your magic. I am offering you a way in for this battle and you won’t use it.”

“There is nothing to tell, my lady.” Melisandre said, in her mysterious monotone. “The battle is in the hands of the Lord of Light. He favours Lord Snow or he would not have brought him back. Pray, my lady. For Jon Snow. For you. For your son.”

“My son?” Dria stared at her as Melisandre’s eye swept over Dria’s body and face. For the briefest moment her eyes lingered on Dria’s stomach before she looked away again.

“He has Kings blood.”

“You keep your hands off him.” Dria said angrily. Dria turned on her heel and began to walk towards the entrance.

“Which one?” Melisandre called as she looked into the flames. Dria froze. “Will you tell him before the battle?”

“Tell him what?” Dria asked, her voice shaking in her attempt to stay calm. She looked over her shoulder to Melisandre, who was smiling.

“You can’t hide it much longer.” Melisandre continued, her eyes dancing. Dria closed her eyes, frustrated. Of course the sorceress would know of the secret Dria was hiding. She placed a protective hand on her stomach.

“After.” Dria said, simply, “I will tell him after.”

Dria exited the tent before Melisandre could say anymore and headed back in the direction of Jon and their last night together before the battle. As she walked, she felt the sheer weight of her secret weighing on her shoulder. The secret of the pregnancy she had worked so hard to hide. The secret of the foetus that had been conceived the night of Jon’s death. The secret of their second child who may or may not survive the battle. The secret that would stay a secret until their fate was decided.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! Long chapter, sorry! There was a lot that needed to be said. 
> 
> I would like to reiterate that this is first and foremost about DRIA, not so much about the relationships she has with Jon or Gendry (the latter of which who is my favourite character). Please no Gendry hate!


	30. Episode 6: Fragile Bones (Pt. 5)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Battle of the Bastards comes to pass and Dria learns to deal with the pain that it brings her and the decisions she must make. 
> 
> **Trigger warning that is also a spoiler alert**: Miscarriage.

_The courtyard of Winterfell. Corpses lay scattered around. Dria stood in the centre as the sound of wolves and swords could be heard ringing around her. She looked down at her hands and found them bloodstained. The stones at her feet were bloodstained. A sharp pain in her stomach caused her to cry out and double over as the puddle of blood grew. A dog barked in the distance. And, in the shadows, a stag reared its head._

Dria awoke with a start. That was the first prophetic dream she had had in almost a year. She took a moment to remember every detail: Winterfell, the wolves, the blood. She did not have time to decipher what it meant. The sound of trumpets could be heard calling all soldiers to arms. Jon was no longer beside her and her own baby was crying. She flung back the furs with which she had been covering herself and gasped as she found them stained with blood. It was only a little, not enough to be concerned. It was only as if she had received her cyclical bleeding: only, that shouldn’t happen during pregnancy. She let out a shaking breath but forced herself to focus. This was not the time.

She picked up her son and quietened him. Her time left with Benjen was short and she knew it.

“Hush my darling,” She cooed, “All is well.” She dressed herself with one hand whilst jostling the infant with the other, “We’ll find your aunt and all will be well.” She left her worries with the blood in the bed as she drew her cloak about her and left the tent.

Soldiers marched back and forth as they prepared for battle. She could hear Davos up ahead shouting orders.

“My lady,” He said with a small nod of his head. They had not spoken since he had told her the truth but he did not seem to want to mention it now, “Delmar was looking for you.”

“Delmar?” Dria questioned to an answering nod. “Where is he?”

“Armoury.” Davos nodded in the direction of the tent. It was passed Lady Sansa’s tent and so Dria made for that direction. There was no sign of Jon.

Lady Sansa was packing her few belongings ready for the journey to the mountains and out of the way when Dria entered with Benjen still in her arms. Dria took a moment to watch her. She had grown to greatly resemble her mother in every regard and for the first time Dria really saw it. Sansa looked up eventually to see Dria watching her.

“Dria.” Sansa said. “Is it time?”

“Almost.” Dria stepped forward.

“I will care for him as if he is my own.” Sansa promised as she held her arms out for Benjen. “Just like you did for my mother and father.”

Dria hesitated as she looked down at Benjen. His wide turquoise eyes looked up at her expectantly and she felt her heart wrench. “I didn’t do a very good job of that.” Dria suddenly felt her throat squeeze and thicken with tears.

“What do you mean?” Sansa asked, “Of course you did.”

“I left you.” Dria said, “With those monsters.”

“No.” Sansa shook her head, “We have talked about this. You had no choice. I have already told you that I forgive you. And even if I hadn’t, or you did, I would never punish a child for the mistakes of their parent.”

Dria smiled gratefully at her. “You would have made a good queen, Sansa.”

“I want no crown.” Sansa shook her head, “Only my home back. If that is at all possible.”

“By the end of the day we will know.” Dria said heavily. There was a pause as Sansa surveyed Dria seriously.

“You would have made a good queen,” Sansa said, “If circumstances had been different.” She gave Dria a small smile.

Dria frowned at her, remembering the prophetic dream she had had a long time ago. She could never be queen. She shook her head. “That was never on the cards for me. It was never my calling.”

“What was your calling?” Sansa asked, “Motherhood?”

Dria looked down at her son and thought of the blood in the bed. She swallowed hard and shook her head again. “No.” She said, remembering the depression she had felt. She looked back at Sansa. “Protecting those I love. That was always my calling.” She swallowed hard, “And that is what I must do now.” She offered Sansa a small smile which was returned in kind.

Dria closed her eyes and gently kissed Benjen on the forehead, lingering for a moment as she tried to pass all of her good wishes for her son’s future through that one last embrace. Benjen cooed as she pulled away. “Be brave, my boy.” Dria said as a tear broke from her eye. She handed him over before she was tempted to cling to him forever. Sansa rocked him gently and pulled Dria in for a one-armed embrace.

“Give them seven hells.” She whispered. Dria let out a small laugh through her nose as she nodded.

“Have you seen your brother?” She asked as she drew herself up and made to leave.

“No. But he will come and say goodbye soon enough.” Sansa smiled down at Benjen.

Dria nodded. “Take care of yourself, Sansa.”

“And you, my sister.” Sansa said. Dria felt tears escape her eyes as she offered Sansa one last smile, and then left the tent, wrenching herself away from her son and Sansa.

The tears on her cheeks had dried from the cold by the time she reached the armoury. Delmar was standing outside arming his men and checking the armour of his officers. He nodded at her as she approached and dismissed the man to whom he was speaking.

“Commander.” He said curtly.

“You asked for me Delmar?”

“I did.” Delmar lifted a wrapped shaft from the ground and held it out to her. “I had our armourer make you this.”

Dria took the wrapped shaft and slowly unwrapped it with a frown on her face. The shroud fell away to reveal a beautiful pike of sapphire-crusted Valyrian steel. It was etched and decorated down the handle and was furnished to fit her hand perfectly.

“Delmar...” Dria was speechless as she admired it.

“A daughter of Dauphin should carry a Dauphinian weapon.” Delmar said, “I don’t care how Westerosi she has become.” He nodded to the pike that she was stroking with her hand in awe. “It’s modelled on your fathers.”

Dria stared at him. “I don’t know what to say.” She said quietly.

“Say nothing.” Delmar said with a smile on his crooked, aged face. He stooped once again and held up a breastplate and shield etched with the dolphin of House Tawn. “Just remember who you are.”

He handed her the armour and she took it with shaking hands, fastening it about herself. It fit perfectly and the shield was light and malleable in her hands. She had not fought with a shield since she was a girl but it came flooding back instantaneously as she weighed it up between her fingers.

“Delmar...” She stammered. “Thank you.”

“We may be a small island,” Delmar said, “But I’ll be damned if we are not mighty.”

Dria stroked the family crest carved into the handle of the pike. It spoke to her in that moment, reminding her not only of her heritage but of what she had to do. She had been drowning in a sea of Westerosi customs and happenstance. She needed to put her _Head Above Water_ if they were to stand a chance of winning. She looked defiantly at Delmar and he gave her a small smile.

“Let’s show them who we are.” She said triumphantly.

As she drew her horse up beside Jon’s on the battlefield little more than an hour later he did a double take as he looked at her. She wore her breastplate proudly, her hair tied in a plait down her back in the style of her people, the shield at her side and the pike in her hands. He couldn’t help but smile at her.

“There she is.” He said quietly so that only she could hear, “There is the woman I fell in love with. The woman they’ll sing songs of when all is said and done.”

Dria gave him a small smile. “Did you say goodbye to him?”

“I did.” Jon looked ahead of him, his face sallowing. Dria set her jaw as she tried not to think of her son miles behind them and what it would be like to grow up not knowing his parents. She has seen herself in Winterfell... she had a chance.

Tormund was to command the Wildlings, Davos the Northerners and Jon the entire army. Each gave their rousing speeches to their factions: words of power and of determination and of _cutting down the enemy._ Dria paced her horse back and forth before Delmar and the soldiers in golden armour. They were looking at her expectantly as the Winter sun burned above them. She was lost for words.

“Dauphinians,” She shouted, “My people. I know you may look at me and see a little girl who knows nothing of commanding armies, of fighting, of what it means to be one of you. It is true that I have grown accustomed to this land, to the North, to Westeros. But I am also one of you. The blood of both Dauphin and of Westeros pumps through my veins. Though I may sound like one of them, though I may have married one of them, I can never truly be one of them because my blood pumps with the blood of Dauphin. And yet I have found my home here amongst these people. Good people. People who do not deserve the shit that has been thrown at them, the beatings they have endured, the endless reign of torment and murder and blood. Our recent histories are not so dissimilar, only we have broken the chains that bound us, but they cannot break theirs without us. And so we stand here today united with all those who have been oppressed as we have been oppressed. Today we are not just taking back a castle but we are taking back a home, and that, my people, is something we all know to be true. Without our home we are nothing. And without us these men could not take back their home. Will you stand with me, with Jon Snow, and with those good and true to Westeros to fight for that which we can all agree is the very heart of what makes us human?” She raised her pike above her head and her rallying cry was answered by the two thousand men and women at her command. Delmar smiled as he saw her father in her face, his own pike hitting the air. “Head above water!” She shouted and her words were repeated. She turned her horse and was met with Jon’s admiration as he looked to her. She offered him a smile in return.

Then the trumpets of House Bolton sounded and all chance of rallying was lost as Rickon Stark was dragged forward at the rear of Ramsay’s horse. Rickon had grown into a young man but something told Dria he would not have chance to grow anymore. They watched as Ramsay made a game of it, setting Rickon free to pelt across the field whilst avoiding Ramsay’s arrows. Jon mounted his horse and cantered forward to meet his brother. Dria’s horse walked forward tentatively under her control but Davos caught her eye.

“Don’t.” He warned, glancing over her shoulder at her men. Dria felt conflicted as they watched desperately.

“Zig-zag, Rickon!” Dria screamed at the top of her lungs. She could see Ramsay nock arrow after arrow and casually aim so that they missed, but sooner or later he would grow bored of the game. She knew it was going to come just as Rickon reached Jon’s outstretched hand... and then what? She could wait no longer. Turning her horse for the briefest moment to address Delmar she breathed, “Wait for my signal,” before spurring her horse forward at a gallop. Delmar repeated her order at a shout but she was too far gone to hear the response. She knew what was coming and she had to reach Jon... sure enough, as soon as Jon reached Rickon an arrow pierced the boy’s chest. Dria pulled her horse to an abrupt stop as she screamed Rickon’s name. The boy who she had seen born shortly after she had arrived at Winterfell was now lying dead in the mud. Her lungs tightened and she fought for breath as she thought about what Catelyn would say, how broken she would be. From this distance she could see the anger on Jon’s face and she knew what he was going to do.

“No.” She said quietly, begging him, but there was no way he would hear her. He stared down at his brothers lifeless body and then, his face set, galloped onwards. Dria put her head down and urged her horse onwards too, needing to catch up with Jon. She passed where Rickon’s body lay and felt a stab in the gut as she looked down at him in passing. She said a silent prayer as she watched Jon’s horse get shot down and saw him thrown.

“Jon!” She shouted as he dragged himself to his feet. She was still metres away as she watched him draw his sword. She could see Ramsay order his soldiers to nock once again and anticipated where the arrows would fall. She vaulted from her horse just as the arrows reigned down and flung herself to where Jon was standing, flinging her shield above their heads. She heard her horse whinny behind as it was shot down too.

“What are you doing here?!” Jon demanded as the rain of arrows stopped and Ramsay could be heard shouting for the cavalry. The thunder of hooves was unmistakeable.

“What use was there in waiting for them to come to me?!” Dria replied. Jon gave her a small smile but his expression was heavily pained.

“Rickon...”

“You did what you could.” Dria replied. The sound of thundering hooves grew closer and closer to them. She lowered her shield and thrust her pike in the air, glinting the signal back to Delmar before turning back to Jon. “He’s with your father and his mother now.”

“I’m sure we’ll see him soon.” Jon said. “I’m sorry I dragged you into all this.”

“Shut up.” Dria scolded as she took up a stance, bracing for impact. “Those who do not wield a sword can still die by one.” She said wisely. Jon looked at her before setting his jaw and drawing his own sword.

“I, Jon Snow, vow to stand by your side from this moment until my last.” He said. Dria looked at him.

“And I, Dria Tawn, vow to stand by your side, my lord and husband, from this moment until my last.” She spread her stance as the thundering shook the ground. There was no way out of this. They were going to die where they stood... it was now or never. “I love you, Jon. I always have and I always will.”

“And I you.” Jon breathed. They exchanged a look and then let out a battle-cry as they charged forward.

The Bolton cavalry was met by that of the Dauphinian soldiers and Wildlings as the battle began.

It was bloody, hectic and endless. Dria lost Jon at her side but there was no time to think of him or anyone else. They were right in the centre and if they did not think for themselves they would die. Slowly the Bolton soldiers beat them back. The Dauphinian force were great fighters but they were light and wiry and relied on a large space with which to fight to their full potential as they wielded pikes and spears and scythes. It was very rare for a Dauphinian soldier to carry a sword and that was their disadvantage in such a close-knit fight. All around her Dria saw her army drop to the ground.

“We have no chance,” Thoren shouted to her as they passed in combat, “There are too many!”

Dria did not reply as she ducked a cavalry sword and brought down the horse with a stab to the flank. She had lost her shield long ago. She was covered in blood and exhausted, her head spinning with the adrenalin. In a moment of clarity she could see they were losing.

“To me!” She shouted, “Rally to me!”

Those soldiers who stood near her heard her cry. Delmar was amongst them and he echoed her order as they closed in their ranks. The Bolton soldiers were ruthless in their attack. They showed no mercy and followed no chivalrous code.

“What do you propose?!” Delmar shouted over the sound of screaming. Dria shook her head, all thought leaving her.

“We need higher ground.” She panted between swings of her pike.

“There is none!” Delmar replied.

“We need to separate them.” She said. “They are strong as a unit but not individually. If we can get enough of our men between theirs...”

“As you command.” Delmar nodded, making to raise his voice, “Dauphinians, scatter! Make like...” But his words were cut short as Delmar was beheaded right there.

She froze, numb, as she watched his body crumple. All around her soldiers were dropping and she was dripping with their blood. She looked up in time to realise the Bolton soldiers had circled them, closing them in.

“Dria!” Jon shouted from the crowd before her. She span around and raised her shield, backing up to stand beside him. “I’m sorry about Delmar.”

“He fought well.” Dria replied, “We’re trapped.”

“Yes.” Jon replied, “But I’ll be damned if this is the end.” He lunged forwards at a Bolton shield and killed the man behind it. Those still standing of the allies did their best to fight back against the enclosing shields but there were too many. Dria lost sight of Jon again as he hurried away to rally his troops. She did her best to shout orders to her own, to use their long spears and pikes to breech the shields, but it did little to help. The panic was rising fast as she could see no way out. The crush was becoming unbearable. What they needed right now, more than anyone, was... she saw Jon disappear into the centre of the panicked crowd. He could easily be crushed.

“No!” She shouted, looking around desperately, “Tormund!” Dria shouted to where he stood not far from her, “Give me a boost!” She hurried towards him and Tormund launched Dria up the growing mountain of people jostling with each other. She used her lightweight as an advantage as she surged towards where Jon had disappeared in the centre. Those men and women around her who belonged to her own banner heard her orders and used their shields as a platform for her to clamber on as she made her way to the centre.

“Jon!” She shouted, dropping down into a gap and pushing her way through until she could see him struggling for breath. She launched into the throng and seized his arm, hauling him out with surprising strength until he could gasp for air. He gave her a thankful look and she returned a nod of acknowledgement as he looked at her in thanks, but the nod was quickly followed by a headshake as they both realised they were losing.

“What do we do?” She shouted over the noise.

“Give all we’ve got left.” Jon panted as his lungs filled again.

Dria nodded, setting her jaw and raising her pike.

“For Rickon.” Dria said quietly, determination flashing over her face as she gripped it with both hands.

“For my family.” Jon replied with equal amounts of determination. Together they cried out and slashed and stabbed at the oncoming Bolton’s in one last stand, encouraging those loyal banners around them to give all they had left. Countless men under the Bolton banner fell to Jon’s sword and Dria’s pike and the growing desperation of their men...

That was when the horns sounded.

The Knights of the Vale rode in to decimate the Bolton shield wall. Tormund, Jon, Thoren, Davos and Dria somehow managed to scramble up the mountain of bodies and out of the main onslaught as carnage resumed. Jon saw Ramsay, up on the hill, turn tail and retreat to the castle walls. He began to run after him, Tormund and Thoren on his heels. Wun-Wun the giant hurried after them as Davos helped Dria down the mountain of bodies and they, too, ran after Ramsay. It seemed victory was in sight at last. Davos commandeered a stray horse and helped Dria boost up onto it. She cantered onwards to where Jon and his entourage had had a head-start. Wun-Wun was already at the gates of Winterfell as Dria cut down all in her past. From horseback she seized a spear from a corpse and hurled it straight through one of the Bolton’s archers as they tried to take down the giant. Jon, seeing this, tossed Dria another spear and she did the same again as Wun-Wun broke down the gate.

They were inside Winterfell. Wun-Wun dropped to his knees, his job done, and Dria was distracted as she rode past Jon sharing a moment with the giant. He was distracted as Dria hurled her own pike at one of the Bolton soldiers. Jon did not notice her ride ahead of them as he bid farewell to Wun-Wun. Just before one of Ramsay’s arrows pierced Wun-Wun through the eye, distracting Jon further, the first arrow pierced Dria’s horse. She was vaulted from it and sent flying into the stone floor.

Dria lay where she had landed for a moment on her back, having been somersaulted in mid-air, and took stock on whether she had broken anything. She was winded and she could taste blood. She heard a crash as Wun-Wun’s body dropped to the ground. A sword lay inches from her fingers. She reached for it, fighting the fire in her lungs, but a boot stepped on her wrist. She looked up with blurred vision to see Ramsay smirking down at her. In one quick movement and before she could fight it he had hauled her to her knees and held her in a chokehold before him, using her body as a shield. She blinked her eyes into focus in time to see Jon get to his feet.

“Game over.” Ramsay said with a smirk, and a sharp pain at Dria’s side told her he had a knife to her abdomen. She clawed at his hand on her throat and looked desperately at Jon.

“Put her down, Ramsay.” Jon called. “This isn’t about her.”

“No? You made it about her when you stole my wife. An eye for an eye and all that.” Dria gasped in pain as Ramsay dug in the blade.

“I have not stolen Sansa.” Jon argued, “She is my sister.”

“And Edeline was mine!” Ramsay shouted, “And your family killed her! I could have returned the favour, a sister for a sister, but I didn’t. Instead I’ll take a wife for a wife.” Ramsay smirked. “Why don’t you fight me for her? We did say one-on-one combat.” Ramsay suggested, “That is... if you can reach me before this knife reaches her spine.” He dug the knife in again. Before anyone else could do anything, even as Jon snatched up a discarded Dauphin shield, Dria bore her teeth down on Ramsay’s hand. He cried out in pain and launched her back down onto the stone. She landed on her front, bracing herself for the pain of the knife as he drove it into her, but it did not come. Ramsay had been distracted by the speed at which Jon was advancing and was pointlessly shooting arrow after arrow to no avail.

Dria took a moment on the ground to roll onto her back. The sobs that racked her body were primal as she felt a clenching in her stomach that could only mean one thing. She looked down at her hands as they had laid by her hips and saw, to her horror, them drenched in blood.

“Dria!” She heard Davos shout and then his weight drop down beside her as she surveyed the blood. Tormund and Thoren landed on either side of Dria.

“Are you hurt?” Tormund asked. Behind him Dria could hear Jon beating Ramsay into a pulp.

“The baby.” Dria sobbed as heartbreak filled her aching body. They stared at her as she clenched her hands over her stomach.

“Baby?” Thoren asked softly.

“I lost it.” Dria whispered in answer, and then everything went black.

The first thing Dria saw when she came round was the wolf banner of House Stark hanging on the wall. It took her a moment to realise she was in what had once been Jon’s room, lying in the bed where she had made love to him for the first time. Nothing had changed: not the drapes, the smell, or the light from the window where Davos stood framed now. They had won. Why else would she be in Winterfell? They had won and that should have been all that mattered. So why wasn’t she happy? Dria took a moment before she spoke to think about all she could remember from the battle. She remembered being thrown from her horse, Ramsay’s brutality. She remembered the pool of blood in which she had laid. It was the sound of her hand gliding over the material of the covers as Dria went to touch her tender stomach that caused Davos to turn to her. Upon realising that she was awake he hurried to the bedside but she snatched away her hand before he could touch it.

“I lost it.” She breathed as tears spurted from her eyes.

Davos nodded slowly and sank into the chair beside the bed.

Dria closed her eyes exasperatedly and turned her head away from him. She felt nothing but sorrow and shame and could not bring herself to look at him. All of the depression that had flooded her mind after Benjen’s birth now returned one-hundred fold. She had never known that she could have mourned someone she had never met. Her child. Jon’s child. gone.

“I lost it.” She repeated.

“Shortly after the battle was won.” Davos explained. “Dria, if you had known...”

“I lost it before.” She argued. “I could feel it.” She sniffed as tears flooded from her eyes and soaked the pillow and her hair. “I’m being punished. The Gods are punishing me for lying with another man. They’re punishing me for not loving my son as I should.” She sobbed. Davos waited for her to continue, to look at him. When she did her eyes were bloodshot and thick with tears, “I can’t look at Benjen without thinking of Gendry. You were right. I love him still, even after all this time, and I can’t run away from that.” Davos waited as whole-bodied sobs shook Dria’s broken body. “I love Jon, but not in the way I should. And that is why the Gods will not let me carry Jon’s child.”

“You are thinking way too much into this, child.” Davos said. “It is an unfortunate tragedy but it was just not the right time. You have Winterfell now. You and Jon can make a go of it.”

Dria shook her head and closed her eyes. “I can’t.” She sobbed. Carefully, wincing in pain, she turned in the bed so that her back was facing Davos, indicating she wanted him to leave. He lingered for a moment before she heard his chair scrape and the sound of the door closing.

Dria held herself and thought of the battle. It had passed in a blur of blood and grief. They had lost so many men and she felt selfish for mourning this one death the most. She thought about Jon. She knew that she was right. The Gods were punishing her. She had been carrying the baby perfectly fine until Davos had revealed his truth about Gendry. All that hope had come flooding back and it had made her realise that she was living a lie. The dream she had had prove that.

Minutes later, or hours, Dria did not know, she heard the door open. Glancing over her shoulder she saw Jon enter. He looked exhausted and bloodied and his face was heavy, but he nonetheless smiled at her.

“Dria.” He said as he leant down to kiss her. She moved out of his reach and gasped in pain as she did so. He recoiled, shocked.

“Don’t touch me.” She said, her voice thick.

“What?” Jon sat beside her, “Why? What have I done? I’m not going to hurt you.”

“No.” Dria said heavily, “But I have hurt you.”

“Because of the baby?” Jon shook his head, “Dria... we can try again. We have a home now, like you said in your speech.”

Dria shook her head.

“I can’t carry your baby, Jon.”

The chair creaked as Jon sat in it heavily. “Don’t be silly.” He said. “Davos told me your worries. You are not being punished. I have forgiven you, you need to forgive yourself.”

“I can’t.” Dria replied. She turned to him and pulled herself into a sitting position, gasping in pain. Jon moved to help her but she held up a hand to stop him. “Please listen. I have to tell you something.”

“I don’t want to listen if it’s the same thing about Benjen and your guilt. We’re going round in circles.” Jon scolded, “We have just survived a battle. We have our home back.”

“I can’t carry your baby, Jon.” Dria repeated.

“Because you lost this one? That was the trauma of the battle, Dria. We’ll leave it a few months and then I’m sure you can carry again.”

“No.” Dria shook her head, “I knew I was losing it before the battle. I could feel it... and there was blood. I wanted to pretend, but I can’t anymore.”

“You’re exhausted.” Jon got to his feet defiantly so as to end the conversation, “It was not fair of me to come to you now. I will let you rest and we will talk tomorrow. I will have our son brought to you then, too.” He kissed her forehead before she could stop him, his eyes lingering on her. “Sleep.”

He left the room before Dria could call him back. She watched the door close and she hit out angrily as sobs took over her body again. She was exhausted, that was true, but no amount of sleep was going to stop these thoughts.

A week passed and Dria did not feel any better. Jon refused to hear her when she tried to speak to him about it all and so she simply stopped trying for the meantime. At least until Winterfell was rebuilt she would muddle along and do her duty. It came to her understanding that most Northerners still believed her and Jon to be married as, when she passed them in the corridors or in the courtyard, they would address her as Lady Snow. Dria did not have the strength to argue. She barely had the strength to talk. They buried all of their dead. Sansa bonded with not only Benjen but also Oswin, Robb and Edeline’s daughter. She was almost five years old now and Sansa doted upon her. Sansa had a statue commissioned in the crypt for Edeline as the one that had been placed under Ramsay’s rule showed her in Bolton dress and Sansa had it changed for Stark. What was left of Dria’s army was garrisoned on the outskirts of the keep in their own encampment and paid handsomely for their help. 

It was at the council of the bannermen that Jon was crowned King in the North by Lyanna Mormont and the bannermen in response to his command on the battlefield. Dria managed to smile with pride as he looked to her desperately, sure this was a mistake. As the room began to chant “King in the North” she softly chanted it too. He frowned at her as he graciously accepted the title bestowed upon him.

Then, it was as they then turned to Dria, sitting beside him but not playing part in any of the discussions, that her suspicions came true. The North did indeed think her still married to Jon as they announced her, by proxy, Queen in the North.

Just like that the weight of that final prophetic dream came true. She looked around desperately, wanting to argue, but as her eyes fell on Sansa she knew it was worthless. She was, in the eyes of the Gods and of the men of the North, Queen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This episode references my other GoT fanfiction "The Wolf Queen" when Ramsay mentions his sister Edeline and Oswin Stark.


	31. Episode 7: The Left Behind (Pt. 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dria struggles with the aftermath of losing her baby and becoming Queen in the North. She accompanies Jon to Dragonstone to meet the Dragon Queen and Dria is forced to face ghosts from the past.

Adjusting to life back in Winterfell was proving difficult. Dria did not wish to be Queen in the North. The role brought with it responsibilities that she had never wanted. Jon took to his title well and the Houses rallied to his banner, happy to serve him as their true leader. Dria could not live up to the title. She had been broken by the loss of her baby, and even caring for Benjen was proving difficult. She did not pick up a sword for weeks and her relationship with Jon became strained. He spent long hours by candlelight learning how to rule whilst she sat alone in her chambers staring out at the snow. Her mind drifted back to the glistening sea of Dauphin, or the truth that Davos had given her about Gendry. She found herself questioning her very existence on a regular basis and it was terrifying. Being in Winterfell was all she had wanted for as long as she could remember in the time since they had left, but now they were here she could see the ghosts of Ned and Catelyn everywhere. She couldn’t help but think she had failed them. She had brought Sansa home, but what about Arya? Or Rickon. Her heart pined for him. He had been too innocent for the way he had been killed. At least Robb was kept alive in the face of his daughter. Ramsay had treated her with the upmost care in respect for his sister and it was good for her to be surrounded by family once again. Sansa had taken it upon herself to look after the girl. Yet Ned and Catelyn frowned out at them from every corner and Dria found herself apologising to them regularly.

Jon was set on the threat in the North and, even though Dria had seen it with her own eyes, she knew the threat in the South was just as strong. The Lannisters had been silent of late, waiting to pounce. And somewhere out there were Arya, and Gendry. At least being in Winterfell meant she had help with her son. Numerous servants occupying the same title that she had once held came and went to tend to him. Her depression grew deep as it went consistently unnoticed by everyone. Except Jon.

Between his duties his thoughts turned to his Queen in her chambers. After weeks of barely seeing her he made the choice to seek her out. She was sitting alone by the fire and holding what he recognised as one of Catelyn’s weavings, staring into the flames.

“Dria?” He asked as he entered unannounced and shut the door. She looked up but didn’t speak, looking away just as quickly. He approached her and shrugged off his cloak and jerkin, draping them over the chair. This was the same unresponsive reaction she had given him whenever he had approached her. He knelt in front of her slowly, his hands on her knees. He gently stroked her cheek until she looked him in the eye. “How are you? You’ve not been down to supper for a few days.”

“I wasn’t hungry.” Dria replied flatly.

“Have you eaten anything?” He continued stroking her cheek, “You need to keep your strength up?”

“For what?” Dria asked.

“Please don’t do this again.” Jon shook his head. He had been round in circles with her unwarranted guilt. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Dria looked away from him, ashamed. Deep down she knew it wasn’t. Yet she couldn’t shake it. Jon gently removed the embroidery from her hands and held them in his own.

“I need you.” He said. “I need you to be strong. I can’t be worrying about you and the North.”

“Then just worry about the North.” Dria shook her head as though it was obvious.

“I refuse.” Jon said assertively. “I meant what I said before the battle. Baby or no baby, I will marry you. You are my Queen and that’s not going to change. How many times do I have to tell you that?” He asked, holding her face in his hands and, after checking her eyes for permission, kissed her softly. Dria initially did not kiss back, not wanting to let him win her over, but as he kissed her she melted into his embrace. Her hands gripped his wrists. He pressed into her as the kiss grew hungrier and the panic rose inside her. She pulled away and before he could stop her she was on her feet, breathing heavily.

“Dria.” He said, getting to his feet.

“Please go.” Dria said with a thick voice as she fought tears, unable to look at him. He didn’t argue as he got quietly to his feet and left the room. As soon as the door closed she dissolved into tears, unable to explain why she had panicked so much at the idea of intimacy. It was probably trauma from losing his child: it wasn’t going to happen again.

Jon must have spoken with Davos because hours later Davos appeared in her doorway.

“When was the last time you went outside, my lady?” He asked as he entered. Dria was occupying the space by the window as she always seemed to do nowadays and looked up as he spoke.

“Is there much point?” She asked.

“There is every point.” Davos said indignantly. “I’m sorry that you lost your baby, I honestly truly am. I know how hard it is to lose a child, and to lose one you never even got to hold...” He tailed off as her face flickered with emotion. “But if this war comes how many mothers will lose their babies if you are not by Jon’s side.”

“Jon doesn’t need me.” Dria said sadly. “I’m no good to him.”

“Because you couldn’t carry his baby? Are you joking? You have to stop blaming yourself.” Davos stepped forward indignantly. “He wouldn’t have won that battle without you. Stop feeling guilty and realise your worth before it’s too late.” Davos grumbled. He sounded angry almost, like a father telling off a toddler who refused to share. Dria frowned at him as he drew himself up. “How hard would it be to go outside and work that spear of yours?”

Dria swallowed dryly. His words were tempting to say the least. She sighed heavily.

“I can’t.” She said.

“Because?” Davos repeated. Dria stammered, unable to answer. “No, exactly. Grab your cloak, my lady. I will escort you outside myself.” Davos said assertively. Dria hesitated but, under his gaze, dragged herself obligingly to her feet. Every part of her ached and felt heavy as she followed Davos out of the chamber and down the corridor. Everybody she passed bowed their heads to her. She had never felt more of a fraud. She looked down and kept her eyes on the floor as Davos led her out into the courtyard to the shooting range. Soldiers were lining the walls in training, shooting targets and the clang of swords rang through the air.

“I don’t know about this...” Dria said as Davos stopped at a secluded pen. He pulled a spear from the wall of weapons and held it out to her.

“Oblige an old man.” He said authoritively. Dria swallowed hard as she wrapped her fingers around the shaft of the spear.

Instantly life flowed through her and she felt alive for the first time in weeks. Her feet automatically took stance as Davos held up his own quarterstaff.

“Now, I’m not good with these weapons.” He said, “You’ll have to go easy on me.”

He lunged at Dria and she instantly blocked, each movement breathing purpose into her veins. All worries sank away and she felt rejuvenated as she put Davos through his paces. They lost count of how many times she knocked him to the ground, victorious, and heaved him to his feet again. Day turned to evening around them as she trained hard. By the time the moon hung high in the sky and Davos was ready to call it a night Dria felt like her old self, pre-miscarriage, pre-Queen in the North. Just Dria.

“Good work, my lady.” Davos said with a bow of his head as he took her spear from her.

“I’m not a lady.” Dria said automatically.

“I beg your pardon, Dria, but you are. You are your grace, in truth.” Davos corrected her. He watched her face fall. “I know you and Jon are not married,” He said quietly, “And I don’t know about Queen... but you are a leader, and people will follow you. They have followed you, and they will always follow you. Don’t let the darkness consume you. You’re no good to anyone if you do.” He gave her a warm smile. “Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m in need of some mead, some meat and a warm bath.”

Dria smiled at him as she nodded. He walked passed her and headed into the castle. The soldiers training around them had long since filtered inside for the evenings feast. Dria took a moment to simply be alone in the darkness and the crisp air of the evening. Snow was falling softly, sticking to her dark hair and bringing out her icy breath. She threw her head back and stuck out her tongue, letting it catch snowflakes as she and Jon had done as kids.

Jon.

Dria bundled up her skirts and headed into the castle, her mind set. She tried to hold onto this mindset of being the strong women she knew herself to be.

She found Jon in his chamber pouring, as predicted, over maps and charts and plans. She entered unannounced and shut the door. Before he could speak she had crossed the room to him and took his face in her hands, kissing him with such force that he stumbled backwards. His hands snaked around her waist and held her as he returned the embrace.

“I’m so sorry.” She said in a whisper between kisses, the passion fading a little. He looked at her soft features and picked the snow from her hair as he swept his hand over her pale skin.

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for.” He said, kissing her again. Together they stumbled back to the bed and, for the first time in weeks, made love.

As Ghost howled at the moon out in the courtyard Dria lay in Jon’s arms, both of them naked on the bed and entwined in furs. Jon ran his fingers through her loosened hair and she traced the scars on his chest. It had felt good to lie with him again, but still a sorrow tore at her gut. All the passion and bravado she had felt from her afternoon training had faded and the darkness was once again creeping in. He seemed to sense it as he stroked her skin. He wanted to tell her he understood, that they should just run away together and set up somewhere else.

“Do you remember the stories Old Nan would tell us?” Dria asked, positioning herself so that she could see his face.

“Which one? She told us many. Often when we were too old to listen.” Jon smirked.

“I think she did it on purpose, chose them carefully.” Dria said, “It’s like she knew.”

“What did she know?” He asked as he surveyed her carefully.

“The one about the Prince who married his love. They were very happy together, but difficulty started to creep in.”

Jon clenched his jaw. He knew where this was going: he remembered the story. He ran his thumb over her lip to stop her, he didn’t need to hear the rest. “Everyone has difficulties, Dria. Neither of us want to be in this position, King and Queen in the North... but we are. And we have to make the most of it.” He kissed her gently and got to his feet, causing her to roll off him as he crossed the room naked and stopped to pour himself a glass of wine. He offered her one but she shook her head. She knew he was deflecting, that he remembered the story. She sighed and climbed out of bed herself, her long hair covering her body as she drifted to the chart table. She looked down at his etchings and observations and sifted half-heartedly through some of the scrolls that had been discarded. As he came up behind her she picked one from the pile with an unusual yet recognisable crest. She held it up to the firelight and Jon’s heart sank.

“Targaryen?” She asked, looking to him. Jon set down his glass. “Jon,” She looked from the scroll to him and back again, “What is this?”

“Read it.” Jon said heavily. Dria hesitated, frowning at him, before unfurling the scroll. Her eyes scanned the scrawled handwriting of Tyrion Lannister.

“She’s here?” Dria said weakly, “The dragon queen.”

“Yes.” Jon said heavily. He reached past her and picked up another scroll. “And this came earlier today.” He handed Dria the second scroll and she read it quickly. It was from Sam, and it carried an important message.

“Dragonglass.” Dria said, “In Dragonstone?”

“Yes.” Jon replied.

“You have to go.” Dria said.

“I do?” Jon frowned.

“Yes. This Daenerys summons you... you do not have to bend the knee, nor should you, but we need that glass if we’re to have a hope of defeating what is coming. And it will be far worse than dragons.”

Jon looked from her to the scrolls and back again, knowing she was right. He had been struggling with this decision since the scrolls had arrived. Dria could see him falter. “Jon... you don’t have a choice.”

“Come with me.” Jon said.

Dria faltered this time.

“What?”

“To Dragonstone. To see this Queen. You’re far more persuasive than I. She may respond to you better. I need you at my side.” He stood before her, literally bearing all. “I need you.”

Dria looked at him, the dark thoughts filling her mind. The last thing she wanted was to return to Dragonstone. But then, before she could stop herself, she nodded.

“Alright.” She said. “Name Sansa Warden in our absence. Leave the children with her.”

Jon nodded, his heart heavy.

Persuading the Lords had not been an easy fete but eventually Jon, Dria and Davos set sail for Dragonstone. They were received by Queen Daenerys’ aides, including amongst them Lord Tyrion. He greeted them kindly and gave Dria a kiss on the hand, apologising for all she had been through and saying how relieved he was to see her well. She doubted he even really remembered who she was other than Jon’s wife – former wife. Davos glanced nervously at Dria as she set foot in Dragonstone for the first time since she had left Gendry and all memory of him behind. He had been right to be worried. Instantly Dria’s thoughts were filled with the blacksmith and of their son in the North, and she had to force herself to concentrate as they were shown into the Great Hall. Neither of them knew what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t a woman their age with long silver hair and wide eyes in a cloak of dragonscale sitting on a throne of driftwood in the main hall. The Queen did not rise as they entered and they waited as she was introduced. She seemed less than impressed by the offerings before her. Her titles were longer than the history of the Seven Kingdoms and Jon and Dria exchanged amused glances. They had heard many things about the Dragon Queen but full-of-herself was not one of them. They looked expectantly at Davos, who cleared his throat and stepped forward to return the favour.

“This is Jon Snow. King in the North.” He said, half-heartedly, “And Dria Tawn, his Queen.”

“You are Queen yet you do not carry his name.” Daenerys asked, an amused twitch in her eyebrow.

“By bastard naming customs I did not take his name, your Grace.” Dria explained.

“A bastard marriage?” Daenerys asked. “Is this normal here?”

“No, your Grace.” She explained, “I just have a thing for bastards.”

Tyrion smirked to himself.

“Neither is a bastard King, your grace, yet here we are.” Dria added. Dria realised for the first time that she had once been promised to another bastard King. Jon looked at her but said nothing as Daenerys smirked in amusement.

“And you are content to sit at his side?” She asked.

“I do no such thing.” Dria replied heatedly. "He sits at mine."

“She is Captain of my Guard.” Jon added quickly with a warning glance to Dria. 

Daenerys raised both eyebrows.

"Where is it you are from, Dria Tawn?"

"Dauphin, your Grace."

"In the Narrow Sea?"

"Yes, your Grace."

"I have never been but I have heard that it is beautiful." Daenerys almost smiled as she and Dria lost themselves in their conversation and ignored the men around them. Jon and Davos exchanged glances.

"It was, your Grace." Dria replied. She was warming slightly to the Dragon Queen, even if the whole situation gave her butterflies. She had, after all, grown up idolising the Targaryen Warrior Queens. "Until the War."

"Did you know my great great Aunt married a Dauphinian?" Daenerys said conversationally. Dria frowned at her. 

"I... I did not, your Grace."

"Yes. If memory serves she took his name. I do not recall what it was, but they lived on your island. Perhaps we are related." Daenerys laughed a little. 

"Perhaps." Dria replied quietly. 

“I think we will get on very well Dria Tawn, wife of a bastard King.” Daenerys said calmly.

Dria swallowed hard. She did not have a good feeling about this encounter, or about the Queen. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise when I set out to write Dria's experiences she wasn't as depressed in original drafts, but I think it's realistic after all she's been through for her to have such dark thoughts. 
> 
> Apologies for leaving it so long to update: I've been struggling with my own mental state!


	32. Episode 7: The Left Behind (Pt. 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dria makes a difficult decision that will effect her relationship with Jon forever, and for the good of them all.

The first night in Dragonstone was a heavy one. Adria barely slept a wink as she lay beside Jon staring at the canopy above. They had been given the very room where Dria had slept with Gendry and it was proving uncomfortable to be within. Her mind was reeling with thoughts of everything. Beside her Jon slept deeply, undisturbed by the thoughts of Dria beside him. He had no knowledge that she was recounting her other love. She had no knowledge that he was doing the same, that his dreams were filled with the red hair of Thoren. That was, until he muttered her name allowed.

Dria was pulled from her thoughts as she stared at him. She had heard it correctly, there was no doubt about that. But was it deserved? She had not realised, in her depressive state, how close Jon and Thoren had been growing. Dria thought about Ygritte and made the horrible realisation that Jon liked these kind of women. Women who were strong fighters, who stood up for what they believed in. Women like Ygritte, Thoren, even this Queen Daenerys. Women not like Dria. Dria was reserved and dainty in comparison. Dria could never compete with a Wildling or a Dragon Queen. Perhaps it was time she stopped trying.

She lay back and listened to him talk in his sleep, her thoughts filled with Davos words: Gendry is alive. Well, if that were true... where was he? Would they ever meet again?

Dria must have eventually fallen asleep because she dreamt of him holding her, kissing her neck as he always did, making her feel safe for the first time in a long time...

“Dria.” Jon’s voice permeated her dreams. “Rise. We mustn’t keep her waiting.”

Dria dressed in silence as she waited to see if Jon would reveal his deception. It did not seem her would.

There was a subtle knock on the door and, before Dria or Jon could react, Davos opened it and slid inside through the crack. He looked between them sheepishly. “Apologies, your Graces,” Davos kept his eyes on the floor despite Dria being fully dressed, alert and standing in the middle of the room. Jon continued to lace his jerkin as Davos spoke. “I have Lord Tyrion on the other side of the door. He wishes for an audience.”

“Right now?” Jon frowned. “The sun is barely risen.”

“Apparently that is when Daenerys wishes to do her duties.” Davos said sceptically. Jon pouted and looked to Dria and back.

“Very well.” Jon shrugged. “Let in the imp.”

Davos cleared his throat and opened the door, yet it was not simply Tyrion who entered. Tyrion stepped to one side as instantly Daenerys commanded the very space in which she stood to a degree Dria could never hope to match. Dria’s breath caught a little in her throat as the sheer power of the woman radiated.

Jon stood instantly to attention, ever the soldier. Dria simply unfolded her arms petulantly.

“How can we help you, your grace?” Jon asked. He was very aware that he stood before the Dragon Queen in a state of undress. He had not finished lacing his boots and his jerkin hung from his shoulders bedraggeledly. They rose early in the East, it seemed. He ran his fevered fingers through his mess of hair whilst Daenerys surveyed him intriguedly.

“I did not think you would be a late riser, Lord Snow.” Daenerys said reverently. She looked to Dria and back to Jon.

“It won’t happen again.” Jon replied. “We were tired from our long journey.”

“I am sure.” Daenerys replied. “I thought it would be fitting of me to be the one to invite you to my war room personally. If we are to be allies there should be no secrets, don’t you think?”

“Aye.” Jon replied. Dria rolled her eyes at the mess of a man he was becoming in Daenerys’ presence.

“Is this invitation simply for the King in the North?” Dria said heatedly. Daenerys’ purple eyes snapped to her dangerously.

“Of course not.” She said with a warm smile, “The Captain of his Guard should also be present. And any advisors he sees fit.” She turned to Davos.

“That’s kind of you, your Grace.” Davos said dutifully.

Dria was looking at Jon. The expression on his face was unreadable. Even he didn’t quite understand it. The Dragon Queen was formidable, beautiful in her rage and her past. He had seen the same traits in Ygritte, in Thoren. His heart panged uncomfortably as he remembered Thoren back in the North, the dream he had had about her through the night, and then that his own wife stood beside him. He looked guiltily at her but it seemed the damage was done. She knew exactly what he was thinking. It confirmed the thoughts she had been up all night battling.

“We will be there.” Dria replied coldly. “If you will excuse us. The King in the North must prepare himself.” Dria spoke in a diplomatic voice that she did not recognise in herself.

“Of course.” Daenerys bowed her head and Tyrion mirrored her movement. She glanced once more to Jon and then made to leave.

“Thank you, your grace.” Dria said in a hollow voice. She watched the look that passed between Jon and Daenerys as the Queen left the room.

“I shall also take my leave.” Davos nodded his head encouragingly at Dria. It seemed he had felt it too. Dria blinked at him and nodded in thanks. The power Daenerys carried still hung in the air.

Dria waited for the door to close behind him before turning to Jon.

“You two seem to have an understanding.” Dria stated. It wasn’t jealousy as much as an observation.

“Do we?” Jon shrugged and perched on the edge of the bed to finish pulling on his boots and making himself presentable.

“Do you not feel the powerful connection between you and the _Mother of Dragons_?” Dria said Daenerys’ title sarcastically. She didn’t rightly understand why she was feeling the way she was. It wasn’t jealousy it was... it was a realisation.

Dria watched him as he sat on the same bed where she and Gendry had made love all those years ago. Where she and Jon had laid through the night, barely touching and hollow. Where she had thought Gendry lost his life. Her chest tightened and she felt herself suddenly unable to breathe as her eyes turned to her King. Gendry was not a welcome thought but being in this place she could not shake him.

“I can’t do this anymore.” She said before she could stop herself.

Jon barely looked up. “What?”

“Jon. Please look at me.” She pleaded. She was still standing a little way from him and didn’t know where she was going with what she was saying. But she needed him to hear it. It had been building up for so long. “This. All of this. Be your Queen, your wife, your lover.”

“What are you talking about?” She had his attention now. He had finished with his boots and got to his feet. “Dria...” He frowned at her. She remembered what he had been saying in his sleep: her name on his lips.

“No it needs to be said.” She said defiantly, her fists clenched by her side. “But I do not think any of what I’m about to say will come as a surprise.”

“What do you mean you don’t want to do this anymore? You can’t just run away...” Jon shook his head at her.

“Jon, please. Don’t make this harder, nor put words in my mouth. I’m not running away from anything. I never have. I never will.” She shook her head, “But you know we’ve not been right since the battle. You know we’ve been pushing things for the sake of Benjen or for your men, or mine. But I can’t anymore. Perhaps coming here has opened my eyes. Perhaps I’m seeing properly for the first time in a long time. We’re not married anymore and you know it. There is no obligation to carry on this charade.”

“We can be...”

“I don’t want to be. And neither do you.” Dria shook her head.

He fell silent. She was right. He had been distancing himself from her both on purpose and by accident for a long time now. They would always have a bond but thing had not been right. But as he looked at the woman in front of him, the woman he had first laid with, had shared his bed with, had thought about almost every day for almost a decade, he couldn’t simply let her go. “Adria. I love you...”

“And I love you. I always have. I always will.” There was stillness as her eyes darted over his face. “But I’m not in love with you, Jon Snow. Not like I once was. Not like part of me wishes that I could be again.” She rubbed her arms and shut her eyes to fight the tears. He did little to interrupt her: he knew she was right. “It’s like that story Old Nan used to tell us. The Prince thought he loved the woman he married until he met another. It turned out it was a love of familiarity. They knew each other well and couldn’t mistake what they felt for love or loyalty or simply...” She swallowed and looked to him, “duty.”

There was a long silence that hung heavily in the air.

“Perhaps there is no difference.” Jon said weakly.

“No. Perhaps not. Perhaps we could be like Ned and Catelyn... if we keep at it perhaps we could find love. But I don’t think we can, Jon, and neither do you. Things haven’t been the same since...” She struggled to think exactly when things had started to fall apart. “We went North of the wall.”

Jon nodded slowly, knowing every word she spoke was truth. “Since Benji was born.” Jon added.

“Since you died.”

“Since I died.”

They spoke in unison.

“Losing the baby was simply collateral. But it made me see...” Dria steeled herself. “In that story about the Prince and his love, her head was turned by another. But because by that point their love had grown sour... he could have had her whipped or locked her away, he could have punished her. But he didn’t. He loved her in a dutiful way and he could see she was unhappy so he...”

“Set her free.” Jon finished for her. “He set her free to be with the one she truly loved, her soul-mate.”

“That is what I wish to do for you, my lord.” Dria stepped forward and took his hand. “I see it in your eyes. You cannot stop thinking about her. You spoke her name in your sleep just last night. I do not want to be the one keeping you bound in this dutiful hell.”

“I can’t do that to you.” Jon shook his head desperately.

“I’m asking you to.” Dria frowned. “I need you to. My love for you is undying and infinite...” She gently touched his face, “But it is not carnal and true. As much as I may wish it to be.”

Jon met her eye and sighed heavily. “I know.” He kissed the palm of her hand softly.

“We’re not married anymore Jon. We haven’t been since you swore an oath to the Nights Watch. We’ve been pretending. Living a lie. I don’t want to keep you bound to me when you clearly have feelings for another. So I, like the Prince, am setting you free.”

Jon surveyed her face. “And so in turn I am doing the same to you.”

Dria nodded slowly. Jon looked to the floor for a moment before raising his head again, slowly.

“Benji?” He asked quietly.

“I know you hold a love for him. But you alone must decide if that love is simply loyalty. He is not your son by blood, and so you are not bound by duty to him.” Dria stroked his cheek with his thumb. “If you wish to continue to be a father to him I will not stop you. But I will no longer ask it of you. I will not ask you to raise another man’s son.” Her voice broke as they both realised: that is almost exactly what Ned had done with Jon.

“He will always have a home in Winterfell.” Jon promised fiercely. “As will you. For as long as you want it.”

Dria felt tears flood her eyes as she nodded gratefully and pulled her hand from his cheek. He reeled as she released him. “I will stand by your side as your confidante and your Captain, but not as your Queen. We will set the bannermen right when we return.” She said diplomatically. Jon nodded.

“So that is that?” He asked. “We are unbound?”

“It would seem so.” She said quietly. A single tear spurted down her cheek.

There was a long pause as Jon simply looked at her. Thoughts of their entire relationship flashed through his mind: of how beautiful she was, of how he had felt when he had first seen her, of how she looked when she fought. He loved her and always would but he knew they had done the right thing. Now he had a duty to fulfil.

Eventually, with great struggle, he sighed and pulled on his cloak. “Daenerys will be waiting for us.” He said. “I must speak with Davos. I have an errand for him.” He left the room before she could comment.

For a moment Dria stood there, numb, as she recounted everything they had just said. Sobs racked her body as she cradled herself, allowing herself to be overcome with emotion for the moment. Then, as soon as she had started, she forced herself to stop and prepare herself for the day. Daenerys would be difficult to handle and Jon would need Dria on his side.

The War Council was brief and decisions were made. Amongst them Davos was to be sent to Kings Landing with Tyrion Lannister to broker a meeting with Queen Cersei. He was to sail that very afternoon. In the meantime Jon and his men were to dig into the mountain and find dragonglass. Throughout the meeting Jon and Dria avoided commenting except when directly addressed so as to not draw attention to their separation.

Dria was standing on the shoreline skimming rocks into the waves when Davos approached her.

“So we’re setting off.” He said over the roar of the waves.

“Safe journey.” Dria skimmed another stone and picked up the next.

“Jon told me you two have separated.” He said quietly. Dria faltered in her motion as his words registered.

“Did he?”

“He thought I could help.”

Dria scoffed and skimmed the stone, picking up another. “Nothing can help. There is nothing to help. We have ended things diplomatically. He is free to love whomever he wishes. I am free to...” Her words tailed off and she simply threw the rock into the sea so that it splashed them. Davos brushed off the droplets slowly.

“Was it your idea?” Davos asked, concerned.

“Yes.” Dria replied, turning to him. “And it was the right decision.”

“I’m not disputing that, my lady.” Davos said. “But why now?”

“Being here. With her. This place...” She looked up at the castle. “It brought it all back. It made the decision for me.”

There was a long pause as Davos looked at her. He had long thought of his niece as his own daughter. He wished he could make it all better for her. He sighed and pulled her in for an embrace that she did not fight, letting him hold her head against his chest as she fought the urge to cry.

“Things are going to get better, Dria. I promise.” He said as he kissed the plaits on her head.

“When?”

“Just...” He stepped away from her. “Watch that horizon for my return.” He chucked her under the chin with his good hand and offered her a small smile. She returned it wanly and watched as he walked away and boarded his ship. Up on the clifftop she could see Jon, his cloak blowing in the wind, the Dragon Queen beside him.

She watched Davos’ ship sail for Kings Landing with a bitter feeling in her stomach as she tried to contemplate why it was worth even continuing, why she shouldn’t walk into the waves and be done with it. Even if the decision had been the right one it still felt like she had been stabbed all over again. He would grow closer to whomever he wished and she would forever be without the love of her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all, it's been a really long time since I've updated and I'm really sorry. This scene was pretty difficult to write but I think it was important for both Dria and Jon to move forward with their lives .  
> Please keep comments positive <3 spread love, not germs. Hope you're all safe <3


	33. Episode 7: The Left Behind (Pt. 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After three years, and after her separation from Jon, Dria is reunited with the love of her life.
> 
> Due to the spam I'm still receiving I would like to reiterate the following: I’m getting so much abuse for tagging it as a “Jon/OC” fic (which it is), but it’s ALSO a Gendry/OC fic (which is also tagged!)  
> Because I’m getting so many negative comments about this being a love triangle I think I need to make this clear.
> 
> Dria, throughout this fic, shows signs of Close Range Attraction Disorder, a cousin of Stockholm Syndrome. I.e: her love for Jon feels real when they’re together but as the fic goes on and they are separated and she meets someone else, she learns that her love for Jon was more DUTY than anything else: he was there at the time. They both come to realise that they’re relationship was built on being the only ones in each other’s lives. 
> 
> This story was never intended as a love story for Jon Snow, nor was it for Gendry. It was intended as a journey taken by a confused, frightened young girl who gradually grows into a strong, confident woman who chooses what she wants.
> 
> IF THIS IS NOT WHAT YOU WANT THEN DON'T READ IT, HAVE A NICE DAY.

The days passed in a flurry of war council meetings, preparation and the aftermath of Daenerys’ flying to Highgarden to show off her might and power with her dragon. The beasts were terrifying, though Jon seemed to be alright with them. Dria preferred to watch them from the window. She found herself remembering the story old Aegon had given her about the Targaryen warrior queen. She wondered if Daenerys had been told the same story and that she thought herself the incarnate. Dria knew better. She could see through the Dragon Queen’s greed and was wary of the madness flickering in her eyes. Dria, like all other Westerosians, had grown up with stories of the Mad King. Now it seemed his descendant showed the same signs. Jon seemed smitten by her. Dria watched as they stood atop the cliff with the dragon bonding somehow. He, at least, seemed happier now he was not bound to Dria.

She wished she felt the same way.

When not in council meetings or in the Dragonglass mine observing progress she was locked in the council room over the chart. She had been permitted to use the map to plan how best to keep the White Walkers in the North. She had spent enough time on the Wall to know it’s defences and so Dria spent long hours pouring over the map by candlelight. It felt odd doing so without Jon at her side but he was concentrating on the mine – and the Queen. Dria vaguely remembered Ygritte and wondered if Jon had been a womaniser all along and she had simply never noticed because he was also loyal. Well, he didn’t have to be anymore. Dria missed Davos. He and Tyrion had been sent on a mission to Kings Landing and Dria feared for his safety with Cersei threatened and unstable. She was even worried for Tyrion. The imp wasn’t too bad after all, and he had always been kind to Jon and to her. He was quite brilliant actually and Dria silently looked forward to a time when she might pick his brains for battle logic.

She found herself thinking of Winterfell as she worked, of her son. He was too young to understand the circumstances surrounding his parentage. Despite their separation, Jon was determined he would not be raised a bastard so for all intents and purposes Benjen was his son to the Lords of the North until the time Dria found a husband she desired. They had talked about it late into the night and Dria was, more than ever before, grateful to Jon for inheriting his own fathers leniency and understanding. Still, Dria missed Benjen. She wondered if he was running yet, swinging a wooden sword: whether he referred to Sansa as his mother by accident. Dria’s heart panged. She hadn’t realised just quite how long they had been away from Winterfell... and, for the first time in a while, the feelings of being a bad mother began to rise in her chest. She had left him, after all, to sail all the way to Dauphin and rally her inherited troops. She had been prepared to die in battle rather than live as a mother to him. Even now she was planning for war rather than nursing him to her breast.

Dria sighed heavily and sank into the nearest chair, her head in her hands. She couldn’t think like this. Not now. The fate of Westeros should come before her own child... but she couldn’t help the thoughts in her mind. It was like they wouldn’t shut up. She sat still for a long time, too long to count, simply staring into the flames. The room was draughty from the open window and sea breeze but she made no move to tighten her furs around herself. Ned Stark had been right... Winter was coming... and there was no way to stop it. It was as inevitable as death.

She sighed heavily and pulled herself to her feet to observe the table and reposition the small amount of Wildlings guarding the northern territory, just as there came a knock on the door.

“Enter.” She said in a monotone whilst mentally counting armies.

The door opened and Davos put his head around it. He looked windswept and weary as he clutched the door with his stubby fingers. Dria couldn’t help but smile when she saw him. 

“Ser Davos.” She said, instantly brighter. “I’m pleased to see you.” She meant it.

“I’m pleased to see you too, my lady.” He sounded honest as he smiled in a fatherly fashion at her. “Is now a good time? His grace said you were running calculations.”

“Numbers of men that don’t add up, yes.” She sighed. “Now is as good a time as any. We’re not getting any more men.” She put down the Wildling counter defeatedly and turned fully to face him as he pushed the door open. His frame filled the doorway in his bulky travelling cloak and he smelled faintly of shit and fish.

“How are you doing?” He asked with a glance to the table. “Jon mentioned you’ve been locked up here most days since you and he....”

“I have a war to prepare for.” Dria said with a small shrug, interrupting him.

Davos shook his head pityingly at her. “Have you been sleeping, my lady?”

“Sleep is for free men with no worries.” Dria said wanly, avoiding the question. Davos didn’t need a firm answer, he could tell from the dark circles under her eyes.

“You’re no good to the cause in a state of exhaustion... You should take care of yourself.” He said softly. His tone was one of testing the water and it raised Dria’s curiosity to the odd way he was standing. “What’s done is done.”

Dria frowned at him and crossed her arm over herself, the Stark army piece still in her hand. “I trust your journey was a good one?” She said, not wanting to get into the Jon situation.

“It was... something... my lady.” Davos chuckled, sensing her change in tone. He still had not moved from blocking the whole doorway. He was looking at Dria with an expression she couldn’t read, his hands clasped earnestly before him.

She frowned a little at his caution. “Did you find what you needed?” She prompted. There was something he wasn’t telling her, she was certain of that.

“No.” Davos said heavily with a slight sigh. He met her eyes carefully. “But I found what you needed.”

And with that he stepped to one side and his place was taken by a black haired, tall man in brown leather.

Dria’s breath caught in her throat, trapped in a gasp. Her jaw dropped and she released the Stark counter she was holding with a bang onto the tabletop.

“Gendry.” She breathed, unable to breathe her eyes. She felt like she must have fallen asleep, or even died. She was in absolute shock. Her body froze, her heart pounded and tears filled her eyes.

He smiled slightly at her, nothing but love in his eyes as he saw what a beautiful woman she had become.

“Hi Dria.” He said softly. He moved his hand as if to take hers but stopped and glanced at Davos standing by the doorway.

“I’ll... er... leave you two to it.” Davos cleared his throat and shuffled past Gendry with a look to Dria. She didn’t move her eyes from Gendry’s face in case he disappeared. She would thank Davos later. He stepped forward as Davos shut the door behind himself, but Gendry kept his distance as though unsure what to say.

Dria, too, did not know what to say. She had too much to say: about Stannis, Benjen, the Wall, thinking Gendry dead, her relief...

“You’re alive.” She whispered eventually.

“It would seem so.” Gendry smiled as he looked down at himself. “And you’re beautiful.”

Dria let out a dry disbelieving giggle in response before lowering her eyes. When she glanced back she expected him to have disappeared, but he was still standing there solidly, his eyes soft and warm as they looked at her. She had so many questions. It had been three years since she had last seen him and in that time so much had happened. Neither of them seemed to be able to know what to say. All they could do was look at each other, the loss and grief they had felt from being apart, the love they had felt three years ago still strong...

In one movement they both stepped forward and met in the middle, their lips meeting in an intense embrace of three years of promises. His strong arms wrapped around her for the first time in a long time and she felt more secure than she had felt for years. Her hands spread over his chest and felt the familiar warmth of his embrace. They broke from the kiss and looked at each other for a moment. He had aged a little, his face sooty and drawing out all the creases of the worries. He ran his rough thumb over her bottom lip and along her jaw, taking in the darkness in her eyes and the worry that had aged her.

“Dria.” He whispered, sliding his second hand along her cheek, “I’ve missed you.”

They were words he had spoken years ago when they had been separated for a mere few days. The years weighed heavy on his tone.

“And I you.” She breathed, her hands clutching his arms as she had done all those years ago, as though she would never let him go. He kissed her again deeply, his fingers entwining in her long dark hair, much longer than last time he had seen her. “How...?” Was all she could manage, her shock grasping her throat.

“Ser Davos.” Gendry said. “That man is a magician. He knew exactly where to find me.”

“Where was that?” She looked up at him intently. She knew she should feel guilty that she was embracing a man so close in proximity to Jon, but his opinion didn’t matter anymore.

“Flea Bottom.” Gendry chuckled. “I thought the best place to hide was...”

“Plain sight.” Dria finished for him.

He nodded.

“I can be smart when I want to be.” He glanced over her shoulder, “But evidently not as smart as you. Captain of the Guard, huh?”

“It’s an honorary title really. Jon...” She tailed off with a worried glance to Gendry. He offered her a small smile, telling her it was okay. “Well. He was alive.” Dria suddenly realised the last time she had met Gendry she had thought Jon dead. Guilt stabbed her in the stomach, seemingly felt by Gendry.

“He seems like a good man.” Gendry slid backwards from their embrace, separating himself from her. She instantly felt lost without him.

“He is.” She admitted truthfully, her mind filling with dark thoughts. “Have you... does he know you’re here?”

“Yes.” Gendry nodded. “And he knows who I am.”

“Davos told him?” She said quickly.

“I did.” Gendry admitted. “I can’t live in secrecy under his nose. Besides, my father and his were allies. I think him and I should be too. And as for you...” He reached out and took her hand. “He gave me his blessing before you worry that my being here will be an insult.”

Dria’s heart panged for Jon’s graciousness. She smiled at him wanly, wondering what Jon’s thoughts really were. “Of course. You’re a Baratheon.” She decided not to dwell on it.

“Unofficially. Stannis never did follow through.” Gendry shrugged a little.

“Stannis was wrong about a lot of things.” Dria looked at him carefully.

“Apparently.” Gendry laughed a little. “So I’m back to being a smith. No throne for me. Not that I wanted it.”

Dria smiled at him and reformed the embrace, laying her head on his chest as thought she was scared he was still not real. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close, relieved to be reunited.

“What do you know about running a kingdom?” She asked, recounting their conversation from the last time they had seen each other.

“What does anyone?” He replied.

Dria chuckled lightly, nestling closer to him. “King Gendry, the strong.”

“Don’t let the Dragon Queen hear you.” Gendry whispered. “Or Jon Snow for that matter. Isn’t he King in the North?”

“He is.” Dria whispered, her eyes opening wider.

“And that made you his Queen?”

Dria shook her head. “I was never his Queen. We weren’t married when... anything happened. Not since we left Winterfell. I’m not his Queen and I never will be.”

“Shame.” Gendry said quietly as he tilted her head to look in her eyes. “You’d make a good Queen.”

“I don’t think so.” She denied, but his expression was serious.

“You would. I thought you would back then. Look at everything you’ve done since?!” Gendry sounded in awe of her as he spoke.

“What did Davos tell you?” Dria asked carefully. He had made no indication that he knew about a baby, whether his or not.

“You lived at the Wall. You fought Wildlings. You rescued Wildlings. You fought the Boltons. Captain of the Guard...! I’m in awe of you, Dria. You’ve done things I heard about in songs.” Gendry stroked her jaw. “You are astounding. Far more worthy than I could ever dream of. I don’t deserve to be in your presence.”

Dria smiled at him, feeling her body ebbing with love for the man she had thought dead all these years. Her smile faded as she felt the urge to tell him everything. “Davos didn’t tell you everything then?”

Gendry frowned. “What did he miss out?”

“I had a child.” Dria said slowly. “A son.”

He wasn’t sure how to react: was it his? Why else would she be telling him? But if it was Jon’s... that complicated matters. She watched the confusion flicker over Gendry’s face. She swallowed hard.

“He was born nine months after Dragonstone.” She ran her hand slowly up his neck so that he focused on her. “Nine months after our last night together.”

Gendry frowned at her further. “He’s...?”

“He’s yours, Gendry. I’ve known all along he was yours. And...” She sighed. “Jon knows too.”

Gendry breathed out incredulously. “I have a son?” His eyes filled with tears as he smiled lovingly.

“You have a son.” Dria confirmed. “Benjen.”

“After Benjen Stark?”

Dria nodded. “He was a great man. I felt my son needed a great name.”

“An honourable name.” Gendry smiled. “I have a son...” He seemed unable to process the thoughts flashing through his mind. “We have a son.” He frowned. “Out of wedlock.” His smile faded and Dria knew what was coming. “He’s a bastard.”

Dria nodded slowly. “Yes.” She felt guilty again.

“I know.... that’s no life for a child.” He whispered. There was a look in his eyes that Dria frowned at. “I cannot offer him anything. No name, no title, no land. Jon can. And this Dragon Queen has the power to legitimise him. Make him a Stark. Then Benjen will be a Stark and not a bastard.”

“What are you saying?” Dria frowned.

“I’m saying my son has a better chance if everyone thinks he’s Jon’s. I’m sure you know that. That’s why you haven’t broadcast his parentage, I’ll bet.”

Dria swallowed. She had gone from ecstatically happy to panicked and guilty. She shook her head defiantly. “We don’t have to talk about that now. Wait until you meet him. He looks more and more like you every day.” She smiled and stroked down his chest. He smiled and nodded.

“Alright.” His eyes darted between hers, “I want this time to get to know you again. Davos said you have been unhappy, may I ask why?”

“Because I was without you.” She said seriously. It felt instantly brighter to get it off her chest after so long. Every word spoke volumes of truth.

“And I have been without you for three years. I don’t want to be without you one second longer.” Gendry said, a glint in his eye.

She smiled in permission. In one movement he kissed her passionately, pressing her against the planning table with the force she had only dreamt about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still getting a lot of negative comments about Dria chosing Gendry, but if you read my disclaimers you'll realise that it's very common that your first love isn't always your lasting love. I wish some of you lovely readers would dig Dria's love for Gendry as much as I do. Otherwise... why have you bothered reading this much? Dria and Jon will forever have love for each other but it is not true and real love. 
> 
> Thank you for reading 33 chapters of this fic and for growing and developing with me.  
> I hope you're all safe out there <3


	34. Chapter 7: The Left Behind (Pt. 4)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dria and Jon come to an understanding about their situation. They head north of the wall to track down a white walker, and Jon is reunited with Thoren. 
> 
> *Thank you to all my lovely readers who have stuck with Dria on this long journey of self-discovery and been patient with her love-triangle*
> 
> **If you're going to comment negativity I advise you to first please a) read the tags and check you're not just making a fool of yourself, b) have actually read the entire fic so you have context and are not making a fool of yourself and c) realise that I'm probably just going to delete your horrible comment anyway so really, what's the point in writing it? You're just making a fool of yourself. Id quod: If you don't like the fic, don't read it**

“Jon...” Dria said in awe as she entered the mine and looked at the walls glistening with dragonglass. It was the first time she had ventured out of the fortress in weeks, let alone seen the hard work Jon had been overseeing. Jon was standing in the middle of the tunnel and turned as her torchlight announced her presence. She shook her head in amazement. “I had no idea.”

“It should be enough to make weapons.” Jon nodded as though reassuring himself. He looked Dria up and down. “You seem happy.”

Dria’s smile, brought on by the news of dragonglass, faltered as she met his eye. She swallowed hard and nodded. “As I can be.” She couldn’t help but return the smile Jon offered her.

“I’m so pleased.” Jon sounded genuine in his response. “Happiness suits you, Dria. I’ve always thought so.” Dria felt the urge to cry wash over her. Jon had always been there for her, put her needs before his own. She wished more than anything that he had been the one she ended up with, but her heart simply would not permit it any longer. Jon seemed to sense her struggle as he continued. “He seems a good man. Gendry. From the few moments I met him. He will keep you well.”

“What about you?” Dria asked darkly. “Are you... happy?” She knew it was a loaded question, that it must be seven hells for him. To her surprise though, he nodded.

“As I can be.” He replied with a small smile.

Dria chuckled as he copied her answer. She was pleased that he was talking to her. She had convinced herself he would never want to speak to her again. He must have felt as free as she did by their new arrangement. The smiles faded from both of their faces as the awkwardness set in and the weight of the situation returned. They weren’t kids anymore. Things were still serious in the world around them.

“We’re heading North.” Jon announced.

Dria stared at him. “We?”

“Me, a few of the Queen’s trusted men...” The scowl was firmly set back on his face. “We’re heading North of the Wall to take a Wite to Cersei.”

“You’re going through with it?” Dria asked. She felt hot and cold all at once.

“We have no choice.” Jon said heavily. He was watching her carefully. “I would like to take Gendry with me.”

Dria looked to him quickly. “Of course. He works for you, your Grace.”

“And you?” Jon said cautiously.

“What of me?” Dria frowned. “I’m going with you. I’m your Captain of the Guard.”

“Really?” Jon seemed genuinely taken aback.

“What do you mean, really? Of course I am. Where else would I be?”

“Well,” Jon swallowed, clearly having thought wrong, “I wondered if you might want to return to Winterfell.”

Dria faltered. “Is that a command, your Grace?” She said slowly. She didn’t want to roll over and take it if it was. She didn’t want to return to Winterfell, not when Jon needed her by his side. Just because they were not husband and wife any longer did not mean she could not remain loyal to him.

“No. I just. I thought you would want to. To be a mother to Benjen.” Jon said as though it was obvious. In that moment he sounded more like his father than he ever had before.

Dria felt herself prickle with annoyance. Jon would never have thought that. Somebody had been whispering in his ear. “Why? Because I’m a woman? My place is by my son’s side and not fighting the fight?” She did not raise her voice but her tone was enough for Jon to backtrack.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.” Jon said humbly.

Dria softened. “You didn’t. I just. You have to know. I can’t be a mother until I know this world is safe for my son. I can’t sit in Winterfell, safe in the stone walls, knowing you and...” She hesitated. Saying his name still felt wrong around Jon. “Gendry... are North of the Wall. I couldn’t bear it.”

“Of course.” Jon nodded.

“No Jon. Benjen is as safe as he can be with Sansa. My reunion with my son can wait until we have set things in motion here.”

“What about...” Jon swallowed. “Gendry. Will he not want to meet with his son?” His tone was laced with bitterness. He couldn’t stop it, and she noticed.

Dria shot him a look, reading him like a book. “I knew you weren’t okay with this. With Gendry and Benjen and... and I don’t blame you.” She took a step towards him. “But what do I do, Jon? Benjen is Gendry’s son and there is nothing that will change that. His blood is Benjen’s blood. I’m so sorry I could not bear you a son.” Her voice broke. Jon made to comfort her but faltered, remembering. There was a long uncomfortable pause whilst Dria composed herself.

“I really, truly, am sorry to have put you through this. Giving you a son and then taking him away. If you want... if it’s easier... I won’t tell Benjen that Gendry is his father when I am reunited with the boy. For all intents and purposes his father will continue to be you. He will be a recognised Snow. That’s what Gendry suggested anyway.” She watched Jon’s face carefully. He was keeping his eyes trained on her. “With you as a father Benjen is not just any bastard. He may not have a name but he will at least have a title. Right now he is Prince in the North, he can be raised a lords son and he will have the best possible start in life. Me? I lose all credibility as your captain and as your...” She swallowed. “As your wife. But that matters not.” She shook her head to emphasise the point, “Where I am concerned the lords will know the truth, but where Benjen is concerned... he is a Snow until the event a marriage makes him a legitimate lord.” She swallowed. Before now she had not let herself believe Jon may be growing close with the dragon queen.

Jon frowned at her. “What do you mean?” He asked.

“Don’t you see? You help her win the throne and she will give you the one thing you have always wanted since you were Benjen’s age. I know Jon.”

Jon faltered.

“Even if she gives me a name, Dria,” Jon said, “I will not marry Daenerys. My heart does not and will not lie with her.”

Dria knew it from his eyes. She knew where he heart lay. He would be reunited with her soon.

“Don’t tell her that.” Dria said seriously. “I think Daenerys has her eye on you. And she can give you what you have always wanted, whereas Thoren cannot.” She saw that flicker in his eyes again. “I know you. A name. A name that you can pass on to Benjen, legitimise him as your son, and your heir, and no one but Gendry, Davos, you and I will know any different.” She spoke eloquently, not a hint of emotion in her words. She had said her piece. It was up to Jon now.

He seemed to be considering her words. He did still love the boy, blood or no blood. And it would give him a better start.

“What about you?” He asked gruffly.

“Don’t worry about me.” Dria offered him a reassuring smile. “I will stand by you as my king no matter your decisions. Even if it labels me a harlot. As long as Benjen’s future is secured.”

“I would never do that to you.” Jon shook his head. “I...”

But he was stopped from telling her his decision by Ser Jorah appearing in the mouth of the tunnel.

He was a wind-swept man with gruff features. “We’re leaving.” He said as his only offering.

“So, you’re coming North of the Wall with me?” Jon asked as he and Dria began walking to the edge of the tunnel, their moment long gone.

“I meant what I said. I will stand by you.” Dria nodded, offering her a small smile.

Castle Black was every bit as dire as when Jon and Dria had left it just short of a year ago. Tormund, Edd and Thoren had done a good job of uniting what was left of the brothers with the wildlings still loyal to Jon. They were made to feel welcome as they dined the night before heading North. Dria watched carefully as they entered the great hall, the hall where Jon and Dria had shared so many moments, and Thoren greeted Jon warmly. Jon was instantly at ease in her presence, and Dria wondered if Jon would come clean to the wildling about the amount of times he had dreamt about her.

“What’s on your mind?” Gendry asked softly as he settled on the bench opposite her. She tore her eyes from Jon and Thoren but Gendry had seen. “It’s still raw.” He offered, “All of it. You both need time.”

“We don’t have time.” Dria said seriously.

“Hey.” Gendry took her hand. “It’s going to be okay. It all is.”

Dria offered him a small smile. She was pleased to have him back, his presence was calming and reassuring. She needed that.

North of the Wall was much worse than any of them could imagine. Tormund, Jon and Thoren, used to the conditions, took the lead whilst the other tailed back. Dria found herself falling in step with Beric Dondarrion, to whom they had been reunited in the dungeons. She had not been able to bring herself to speak to him until he made a point of speaking to her.

“I’m glad to see you alive.” He said, “I always knew you would be.”

“Yet you gave me away anyway?” Dria replied sourly, “Me and Gendry.”

“You both found solitude in each other.” Beric said as though it was no big thing. “Have you stayed together this whole time?”

Dria did not want to get into it with Beric now. She had once trusted him and he had betrayed her, like everyone else. She simply shook her head.

“I’m sorry.” Beric said, sounding genuine. “But you found each other again?”

Dria swallowed hard. It would be too much to explain almost five years of the trauma she had seen. Her eyes fell on Jon and she remembered the most important part.

“I wanted to thank you.” She said quietly.

Beric raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I’m not saying I believe in your red god.” Dria said, “But I have seen the power he holds. First hand. Because of you and...” She looked to Jon. It was enough for Beric to make the connection.

“Jon Snow.” He said. “The prince that was promised.” He added in a whisper.

“I’m sorry?”

“Nothing.” Beric shook his head. “I am glad that the god spoke to you in such a way. At the end of the day faith is the only thing we have.”

“Not true.” Dria said. “Love.”

“Yes.” Beric nodded. “Love."

Dria watched as Jon and Thoren grew closer on the walk. They seemed natural together, more natural than she had ever been with Jon. The natural she felt with Gendry. 

Their expedition ran into trouble when Thoros was fatally wounded by an undead bear, and ended in a hoard of wites attracting far too much attention. As the army of the dead closed in around them Jon looked to her for help. She could tell he needed her. They killed many. Dria had only ever seen them in her dreams, but this was reality. She barely batted an eye when Jon sent Gendry to send a raven, or when Gendry kissed Dria fully and passionately in front of everyone. Now was the not the time for petty labels or love triangles. This was a war, and as Gendry disappeared into the snow Dria suddenly felt one less piece closer to winning it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a shorter chapter than normal, but it's an important scene between Jon and Dria that needed to happen I think for them both to find closure.


	35. Chapter 7: The Left Behind (Pt. 5)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dria and Jon survive being North of the Wall, and Lady Brienne has something to tell her.

Things looked bleak. They were stranded on a rock in the middle of a frozen lake, freezing in their own skin and waiting for the thousands of white walkers surrounding them to make their move. Dria had managed to almost ignore the threat they posed but now there was no denying it. They were evil looking things that would plague her nightmares – if she survived to have nightmares. She hoped Gendry could survive the trek across the snow to the Wall, that he would get them help. She gripped his hammer tightly on her lap and couldn’t help but feel afeared that after so long apart from him she would now, once again, never be reunited. She wished she had told him what he meant to her. She wished she had begged him to head for Winterfell and be a father to their son, knowing she would not make it. There hadn’t been time, and now he would never know. And Benjen? Benjen would be without parents. Just like she had been. Dria felt icy tears prick her eyes. She had never felt more hopeless, even after everything. This was the worst. With a heavy sigh, she hunkered down in her cloak and perched on one of the boulders on their island. There was nothing to be done. All that mattered now was surviving the night, and hope for the break of dawn and the chances it would bring.   
“Are you okay?” Jon’s voice came softly from beside her. Dria pulled herself from her thoughts of Gendry and their own inevitable death and looked up as he sat in the snow next to her. There were icy flecks in his black hair and a hopeless expression on his face. He seemed to be thinking along the same lines as her.   
“What would you say if I said no?” Dria replied, just as quietly.   
“I would think you far smarter then I already knew you were.” Jon offered her a small smile that quickly faded. “I’m sorry that I sent Gendry away.”  
“You were right.” Dria shrugged, “He was fastest.”  
“I have faith he will find us aide.”   
Dria looked at him, her expression grateful. “You have no idea how thankful I am for your faith in him.”  
“He’s good for you, Dria. I felt you should know in case we are to...” His eyes flickered to the white walkers at the edge of the lake, and then briefly over to where Thoren stood beside her father. Dria watched as he then looked to the snow.   
“If we are to die,” Dria said. Jon looked at her quickly but she shook her head, indicating that he should not argue, “Thoren should know how you feel.”   
Jon surveyed Dria’s expression for a moment before nodding slowly. “Perhaps I should tell her.”  
“Perhaps you should.” Dria reached out her frozen fingers and put a hand on his icy cheek. “Go. Before it’s too late.”   
Jon kissed her hand and climbed to his feet, crossing to Thoren and quietly engaging her in conversation. Dria huddled herself tighter into her cloak and closed her eyes against the elements, thinking only of her son and of the life she should have lived.  
A vast stone arena, scorch marks on the walls, a council of chairs in the centre. The chairs each had etchings of the most influential Houses in Westeros: Stark, Lannister, Greyjoy and, to her surprise, Baratheon. Targaryen was nowhere in sight. Each chair was empty, save for the Baratheon. All that sat upon it was a crown.   
The scene shifted to the hall in Winterfell. She was reunited with Gendry, and in his arms he held their son. Behind him sat Jon and Daenerys, Sansa and... Dria could not believe her eyes: Arya and Bran. It seemed to be some sort of feast, and they stood in the middle.   
They were going to survive this. It had been a long time since she had experience a prophetic dream, but a dream it had nonetheless been as Dria was woken by the sound of flame. She climbed to her feet in time to watch Thoros’ body burn, sent on his way to the Lord of Light. She knew she should tell Jon about her dreams, or speak with Beric, but now was not the time. There was still no sign of rescue and the dead still waited on the edge of the ice lake. Her dream was fast fading along with her hope. The Hound was passing the time throwing rocks at the dead, smashing jaws and...  
Then the Hound threw a rock and it skittered across the ice at the feet of the dead. They knew there and then that it was too late to take it back. The damage was done, and the dead were coming. They readied at arms and Dria forgot everything but her duty. Trying to rectify the Hound’s mistake, she thought quickly, lighting the end of her spear with the fire from Thoros’ body and hurling it at the approaching dead soldier set to take revenge on the Hound. It struck its target and sailed through its body, lighting it on fire so that it fell back and lit three more. But that was all she could do. Her spear gone, she and Jon closed ranks and drew weapons, Jon his sword, Dria raising Gendry’s hammer. It was well built and easily malleable. They had fought together enough times to know each other’s fighting style, keeping the dead at bay just as they kept away the Bolton’s. But they were outnumbered. They were soon standing on a pile of the dead with little to show for it but the thread of their own lives.   
“Keep an eye on our charge!” Jon shouted at her as their kidnapped white walker threatened to disappear in the crowd. Dria nodded and hauled the prisoner to the highest point of the rock. But it was no use, they could not survive much longer. Everything slowed down as Dria caught Jon’s eye, both of them knowing this was it, this was how they died.  
Then the sky lit up with dragon fire as Daenerys and her three dragon children soared above them, burning white walkers as though they were wisps of smoke. Drogon landed on their rock and Tormund helped Dria haul the charge up onto the dragon’s back, piercing it with one of the spines. One by one the party climbed atop the dragon, but Jon single-handedly insisted on pushing the white walkers back. Dria declined Tormund’s offer to lift her onto the back of the dragon and slid instead down its wing, running to help Jon beat back the white walkers.  
“Dria!” Jon shouted, “Get on the dragon!”   
“I’m not leaving without you!” She shouted back as they fought.   
“Yes, you are!” Jon stopped his fighting to grab her arm and force her to look at him. “You have a family in Westeros. A son. You have to get out of this.” He kissed her on the lips and pushed her away, “Live a life for both of us.”   
Dria felt her arms being grabbed by the Hound as she screamed out and tried to fight against him. “Jon! No!” He was too strong.   
“Get her on the dragon.” Jon ordered as Dria felt herself effortlessly lifted up and onto Drogon’s back, held in place by the Hound’s strong arms around her as easily as if she were Arya’s size. She was the last passenger, and with one look at Jon, Daenerys ordered Drogon to take off. They lifted from the ground and soared South, away from the rock. It was only as they cleared ten metres that Dria noticed a second figure standing beside Jon, a woman with red hair.   
“Thoren!” Tormund screamed, but it was too late and they were too high. It seemed he, too, had underestimated his daughters feelings for Jon.   
The flight from North of the Wall was one of the hardest moments Adria had ever experienced. She knew she should be marvelling at being aboard a dragon, or mourning the loss of another after the Night King had brought one of Daenerys’ dragons down. She had never been a fan of heights and the fear in her stomach overwhelmed the awe she knew she should be feeling at the magnificent beast upon which she was sat. In her mind she could not help the constant replay of the moment Jon was surrounded by white walkers, sacrificing himself so that they could escape, or Thoren standing beside him. She could feel his desperate lips on hers even now, and she knew he had done it to distract her long enough for the Hound to effortlessly haul her away. He had released her now. She couldn’t help but feel if his actions had been some form of redemption. She felt the loss of Jon strongly, could hear Tormund mourning his daughter behind her, but she knew there had been no sense in her dying North of the Wall. She vowed to adhere to Jon’s dying wish and to live a life for them both, keep his memory alive with Benjen. A thought struck her mind like lightning: Jon had sacrificed himself so that she could live an uncomplicated life. Fresh tears fell from her eyes and punctuated the remainder of the flight. She knew she couldn’t let him down. 

“Where’s Gendry?” Dria demanded of Davos as soon as she slid off the back of the dragon to where her uncle was waiting. It felt good to have snow beneath her feet again instead of the clouds. She had awed all her life at the mystical beasts never once thinking she would have chance to ride one, but now she wanted nothing less.   
“Inside.” Davos said, matching the haste in her tone. He saw the panic in her face as she asked him the question without voicing it. “He’s alive.” He confirmed reassuringly. He surveyed those sliding off the beast behind her. “Jon?”  
Dria met Davos’ eye with tears flooding her own. With a minute shake of her head she told Davos all he needed. Davos cleared his throat, swallowing tears, and turned to do his duty in helping the rest of the party.   
Dria took a moment to consider her choices, contemplate how selfish she felt. Jon was almost entirely likely to be dead, either by the ice or the Walkers. At least he was not alone. Inside Castle Black was her living betrothed. She could stay here and mourn the King’s likely passing with a group of men somewhere between strangers and vague acquaintances and the Dragon Queen who had caused all of this in the first place. No. She couldn’t resent Daenerys. She knew what it felt like to lose a child, she knew she should be showing Daenerys that she felt what she felt. But... she looked to the open gateway and began to walk towards it, her feet making up her mind for her. If she had learnt anything from everything that had happened to her it was to live in the moment, as Jon had wished. Jon was dead. She would mourn him later. For now Gendry needed her.   
The inside of Castle Black was no less draughty than outside. Winter was here, there was no denying that. Dria pulled her cloak around herself and followed the sound of the fire to where the once great hall stood, now dilapidated and beyond repair. Many memories had been made in this hall. Many fears had been lived.   
“Gendry?!” Dria called as she entered the hall. There was an answering moan from the cot at the end of the room beside the fire. Dria hurried across the snow-stained flags and flung herself down beside the pile of furs that contained the Baratheon bastard, his hammer clinking on the floor as she set it down. She pulled back a corner to reveal his pale face, contorted in pain as she looked down at him. She pulled off her bloodstained hide glove and placed her hand on his cheek, the little warmth she had in her fingers reaching out to him.   
Gendry stirred and fluttered his eyes open with a frown on his brow.   
“Dria?” He said weakly.   
She let out a stifled breathy laugh as he said her name, running her thumb along his chapped lip. “You still have a nose.” She said with a small smile, leaning down to kiss him lightly on the tip of it.   
“And, by last count, all of my fingers.” He made to show her but she stayed his arm, shaking her head.   
“Keep them under the furs. You’re no good as a smith if you can’t hold a hammer.” She tucked them in as indicated.  
Gendry smiled softly at her, wincing in pain as he ignored her orders and pulled a hand from under the furs, sliding his stiff fingers between hers in a loose grip. She held them tightly to keep the warmth. “Still got them, see.” He said.   
Dria shook her head at him, running her fingers over his shawn black Baratheon hair. He closed his eyes at her touch and seemed to be struggling to stay conscious. “Gendry?” Dria said uncertainly. She tucked his fingers back under the furs and rose briefly to fetch warm water from the fire, returning to sit beside him, dipping a rag into it and holding it gently to his forehead.   
He blinked his eyes open in response. “Did we win the war?” He asked weakly.  
“The war is far from over my love.” Dria whispered as she tended to his fever, “But that battle is done, yes.”  
“Did we get what we needed?”  
Dria hesitated before nodding in response. “Daenerys has what she needs for the meeting with Cersei. She will be leaving for Kings Landing with her posse at first light.”  
“Just her?” Gendry was suddenly very awake. “Where’s Jon?”  
Dria swallowed hard, taking her time ringing out the rag. “He fell behind.” Dria said, her voice catching in her throat.   
Before she could stop him Gendry had propped himself up on his elbows. “Dria... I’m so sorry.” His voice was thick with unspoken apologies.  
Dria looked him in the eye, reading the apologies he was trying to convey. She shook her head and gently pushed him back down on the furs so she could put the rag back to his forehead. “What’s done is done.” She said hollowly. “We have to focus on you. You can’t make weapons from dragon glass until you’re better. We can’t go back to Dragonstone until you let yourself. And if we can’t go to Dragonstone we can’t go to Winterfell. And,” She paused to look at him softly, “If we can’t go to Winterfell, you can’t meet your son.”   
“My son.” Gendry said emptily, as though he had forgotten. He nodded slowly. “Our son.” Gendry’s fingers found hers again. “I suppose he is... now Jon is gone.”   
“He was always yours by blood.” Dria reminded him, but she knew he was thinking the same thing she had. It was certainly far less complicated now.  
Gendry watched her expression as she continued to tend to him. When he spoke, after the pause, it was in a serious tone. “Do you ever wonder what it would have been like?”  
“What?” Dria frowned at him. He pushed himself up to a sitting position and took the rag from Dria, placing it in the bucket and then taking both her hands in his stiff fingers.   
“If we had run away together. Back we said we were going to. Before dragon queens and white walkers and... all this ... peril. Do you ever wonder what would be different? Whether our son would be... legitimate...? Or at least... his parents would be married, even if his father is a bastard.”  
“It would all be different.” Dria shook her head at him, “At least... in our own little world. But all this... dragon queens and white walkers and peril... it would still be happening. And we’d have no power to stop it. Our son would be growing up in a world of constant fear. At least now... here... in the middle of it all... we have the power to help. You making weapons, me commanding armies...” She tailed off as her mind turned once more to Jon. She swallowed hard and took Gendry’s cheek in her palm again. “I wouldn’t change anything. You, me, our journey. It got us to a place where we can make a difference in the war to come. And we’re doing it together. I wouldn’t change that.”   
Gendry smiled at her incredulously. “Why are you so wise?”   
“Wisdom comes from adversity.” Dria said with a sad smile. There was a pause and then Gendry leant forward to lightly place a kiss on her lips. She relished it, meaning every word she had spoken. She wouldn’t change a thing. Except maybe...  
“Dria!” Davos suddenly shouted from the end of the hall, “You’ll want to see this! It’s Jon!”  
Gendry and Dria exchanged a look of shock.   
“Go. Do your duty.” Gendry said softly, kissing her lightly once more.   
“Don’t die while I’m gone.” It wasn’t a question, it was an order. She couldn’t afford to lose anyone else.   
Adversity may have made her wiser but anymore grief would kill her.

Jon was alive, and so was Thoren. Jon had sent for her as he lay amongst furs on the ship heading for Dragonstne, in a room adjacent to where Gendry now lay. She had been tending to Gendry as Jon called for her.   
“It’s not usually in this position,” Jon smiled at his own joke as he gestured to his injuries. Dria shook her head and tucked him up in more furs.   
“If you’re making me out to be some sort of damsel in distress,” Dria managed a small smile, “You’ll find we’ve both had our fair share of injuries. And, last time I checked, I haven’t actually died.” She scolded. “How did you get away.”  
“It was Benjen, Dria.” Jon said. “Uncle Benjen.”  
“What?” Dria blinked at him incredulously. “How?”   
“He seemed... I don’t know. Dead, but not.” He screwed up his eyes, “I don’t know.” Jon repeated, “I might be imagining it.”  
“What did he say to you?”  
“Not much. There wasn’t time before he sacrificed himself and sent us away on his horse.”  
“But he wasn’t one of the undead?”  
“No.”   
“Do you know what this means?” Dria’s eyes lit up but her expression was worried.   
Jon read her expression effortlessly. “No, Dria. It’s not a sign.” He took her hand. “Gendry is alive, I hear. Benjen saving me is not a sign.” He winced again. “How is Gendry?”  
“Recovering. His fingers almost got frostbitten, but he can still grip so he can still forge.”  
“Good.” Jon nodded, “Remind me to make him a Lord as soon as I am able.”  
Dria stared at him as he looked at her seriously.   
“Then he can marry you legitimately.”   
Dria frowned at him, touched beyond measure by the gesture. “I am grateful for Thoren.” She said.   
“As am I.” Jon said airily. “As I am for Gendry. And for you.”  
“What a complicated life we lead.” Dria smiled. “Do you think we could ever have predicted this all those years ago?”  
“I think we would have been mad to even consider it.” Jon squeezed her fingers.   
“Have you thought about what comes next?” Dria asked softly. “With the dragon queen, and the North?”  
“We take it in small steps. Kings Landing, convince Cersei, and then look at what comes next.”  
“Have you made a decision?” Dria’s mouth was dry.  
“About what?” Jon asked, but Dria knew he knew.   
There was a long pause as they looked at each other.   
“I think you should bend the knee, Jon.” Dria said quietly. She had been thinking about little else since they had left Castle Black. Jon stared at her.   
“What?”  
“Daenerys did not need to come after us. She could have left us to die, could have flown to Kings Landing and conquered Westeros without caring about us. But she didn’t, she came to our aid, and...” Dria swallowed hard, “She lost a child in the process. She deserves our loyalty. She is not Cersei.”  
“Sansa will not like it.” Jon frowned.   
“Sansa is not the ruler of the North. You are. Daenerys may be the leader we need to survive this. There have been much more terrible rulers.”   
Jon knew she was right. He took a deep breath. “Alright. I’ll bend the knee.” He looked down at his battered body, “Metaphorically.” He winced as pain racked his exhausted body.   
“Rest.” Dria said, getting to her feet and kissing his forehead. Jon simply nodded and shut his eyes. Dria got to her feet and left the room, shutting the door quietly behind her. 

Kings Landing had changed since she had last set foot there. It was a much more hostile city, and setting foot inside it felt like surrendering to her captors all over again. She wanted Gendry by her side but knew why he could not come. She could see why Sansa had declined to come and had sent Brienne in her stead. It was as they stood in the dragon arena, the place Dria recognised from her dreams, staring at the circle of chairs, that Brienne dropped a bombshell on her. Her words pulled Dria from her thoughts of etchings on thrones and the Baratheon crown and lack of Targaryen.   
“Your grace,” Brienna said as Dria broke from her thoughts.   
“Lady Brienne.” Dria replied, realising for the first time that the North still believed her to be Queen.   
“I thought you should know,” She glanced about her and spoke softly, “Lady Arya is alive and well.”   
Dria forget every thought in her mind except one: of Arya: as she thought about Brienne’s words. “What?!” Her hands flew to her mouth. Brienne nodded.   
“She is very much looking forward to seeing you, your grace.”   
Dria swallowed, her mind filled with memory. At least one good thing might have come out of all this. A small piece of hope.


	36. Chapter 8: The Ending That Was Promised (Pt. 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dria returns to Winterfell and her son, and there are reunions to end reunions. She also has something to tell the northern lords and ladies.

The journey North was bleak, and not just because of the weather. Jon rode upfront beside Daenerys, the Queen and the King in the North, where he belonged. Dria did not belong there any longer. Although she didn’t want to, she was concerned about the rumours her riding beside Gendry would bring to the lips of the Northerners. As far as they were all concerned she _was_ Queen. She had never wanted the title. She knew she would not be good at it. She wasn’t, after all, a Northerner. She had told Jon as much when they had considered their plan of action.

“They will continue to accept you as their queen if you ask it of them.” He had urged as he saddled his horse beside her. He had repeated such a line several times.

“No, Jon.” Dria shook her head softly as she saddled her own. “I do not ask it of them. I never have, I simply did not deny them when they bestowed it upon me. The one thing that tied us most strongly was that we were both born outside of the North. Neither of us are northern by birth, but by nurture. I’m sure you can understand that.”

“I can.” Jon had nodded slowly. She was right. They both may sound northern but they were both far from it when it really came down to it. But he had the family tie. Without Jon’s hand in marriage Dria had nothing. Nothing but loyalty. He thought hard, torn between duty and honour. He knew if they did not ride together then the Northerners would have something to say. He also knew they would have to come clean about their separation at some point. And they needed to do it in a way that did not turn the North against Dria – they needed her. He needed her. Jon sighed. “Ride beside Gendry as we enter Winterfell. They should all be distracted by the foreigner queen anyway. We will address it with the council of bannermen and not with the full council. I am sure many will be on your side, if not mine. That should suffice.”

Dria surveyed him carefully. “I do not wish you to martyr yourself, Jon. I am as much at fault here as you.”

“I died, Dria. That ended any and all tie that we had. They will have to see that.” Jon scowled.

Dria reacted as though slapped as she stared at him. He stared back, not sure what he had said. “That did not end all ties.” Dria corrected him. She knew he had not meant it literally, and the lowering of his head proved it to her. “No, Jon. I will forever by loyal to you. As long as you allow me to stay in the North, there I shall stay, until you tell me otherwise.”

Jon could do nothing but nod, grateful for his friendship in her.

Dria pulled herself from her thoughts as she glimpsed the familiar roads outside of Winterfell. It had been less than a year since she and Jon had left, but so much had changed. The snow was so thick on the ground and the air bitterly cold. She looked to her right and to where Gendry was riding astride his thick black steed, shivering inside his thick furs. She couldn’t help but smirk as she leant closer to him.

“How are you holding up?”

“I’m sure I’ll weather.” Gendry replied, but his teeth chattered.

Dria giggled in spite of herself. She and Jon had a plan, and they would stick to it. Whatever happened, happened. She could see the walls of Winterfell up ahead and smiled down at the faces of the people lining the path. Some she recognised, some she did not, but they all smiled up at her.

“You’re popular.” Gendry whispered as Dria returned the wave she was offered by a little girl.

“As far as they know,” Dria replied so quietly only Gendry could hear, “I am still queen.”

“Ah, of course.” Gendry scowled. He was in on the plan, at least, so she wasn’t keeping secrets from the one man she cared for. Gendry glanced over his shoulder to where Thoren was riding. She had been gravely injured by their journey north, and whilst she and Gendry had recovered together they had developed a bond in being the new lovers of the great couple that had been Dria Tawn and Jon Snow. It was a storm to weather indeed, but he was strong, and so was she.

Dria tried not to dwell on her fear as they approached the gates. She could see more recognisable faces in the soldiers she had left behind: her soldiers, Dauphinian armour glinting in the winter son. She held up a hand to greet the man who had replaced Delmar, a man named Aalto. He had been keeping her soldiers in Winterfell in her absence, and he seemed to have done his job. He greeted her in return. Instantly Dria felt safer in her own mind, knowing her men had not deserted her as she feared the Northmen would.

Then all thought of allegiances flew from her mind as her turquoise eyes fell on a young boy perched in the branches of a tree at the edge of the battlements. Her heart flipped as she recognised his wild dark hair, his pale skin and the blue flash of his eyes. He could not have been much older than three, and he waved enthusiastically at her as she noticed him. She waved back in spite of herself, her heart operating her hand.

“Is that...?” Gendry asked breathlessly.

“Yes.” Dria replied. Gendry swallowed hard at the sight of his own son.

As soon as they entered the battlements of Winterfell she slid from her horse and dropped to a crouch, opening her arms wide as the boy slid down onto the hay bale and landed expertly on the ground, running on his stubby legs towards his mother, his hair as wild as hers. He threw his arms around her neck and she span him around.

“Mother!” He cried, planting a slobbering kiss on her cheek.

“Benji, by the Gods how you’ve grown.” Dria balanced him on her hip. When she had left Winterfell he had barely been walking and talking, now here he was climbing walls. She kissed his cheek and held him close again. Jon was engaged in speaking to Sansa and Daenerys and did not partake in the reunion. Perhaps that was best, as it was no guarantee people would not get suspicious.

Behind Dria, Gendry had dismounted his horse and was walking sheepishly towards her. They had to be careful, but this reunion was all she had wanted for him in the last few months.

“Benjen,” Dria said softly, his chubby arms still around her neck, “This is a dear friend of mine,” She said carefully, “Gendry.”

“Hello.” Benjen said shyly.

“Hello.” Gendry replied, blinking fast. “I’ve heard a lot about you from your mother. You’re much stronger than I thought you’d be.” Dria smiled thankfully at Gendry, knowing how hard this was for him not to blurt out ‘I’m your father’.

Especially when Benjen then slid from Dria’s arms and hurried over to Jon, pulling on his cloak until he picked him up. Dria felt her heart flip as she watched the interaction.

“Hey.” Gendry said quietly from as close to her as he dared. “It’s okay.”

“I know.” Dria replied, watching Jon introduce Benjen to Daenerys. “I know.” Her eyes scanned the party as she smiled at Sansa, and her heart stopped as she saw a boy in a wheelchair. Without explaining it to Gendry, she drifted across the stones to where Brandon was observing.

“Hello Dria.” Bran said, his heavy eyes sliding to her face.

Dria swallowed hard. “You’re alive.” She breathed, kneeling down to look up at his face. “I’m so sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” Bran asked. “It was what I wanted. You only did as I asked. You always do, you are dutiful. Father would be proud.” He offered her a small mechanical smile. “Your son is beautiful.” He glanced to where Jon had set Benjen down again and they had began to move into the fortress. As Dria picked up her son she had the feeling that Bran knew, especially as his odd eyes then slid past Dria to where Gendry was still standing in the middle of the courtyard, and then back to Dria. Jon had moved away now, and Dria was glad as Bran quietly whispered, “I know everything, Dria.”

He then allowed himself to be wheeled away as Dria stood alone and confused with her son in her arms. Time seemed to stop as she considered Bran’s words. _Knew everything._ Knew what?

“Hey,” Gendry appeared at her shoulder again, “Are you alright?”

“Never better.” Dria forced a smile. “Shall I show you where the smithery is?” Anything to distract her mind.

The day had been filled with reunions, and this was one that Dria had been waiting for for four years. She stood with Gendry in the blacksmith shop as he got to work directing the men he had been given. He was to be put in charge of weaponry and the purpose in his demeanour was the most handsome she had ever seen him. Benjen was running about his feet and helping lift tools. She knew how important it was for Gendry to be able to bond with his son, even if his son did not know. It was as Gendry was distracted with Benjen in his arms, showing him the bellows, that Dria heard a small voice from the doorway. 

“Hello, Dria.”

Dria whipped her head around to see Arya standing half in shadow. Dria stepped away from the table and hurried over as fast as she could without causing a scene. She approached Arya, noting every change the young woman have been through, and her eyes filled with tears. To her surprise, as did Arya’s, and the embrace that followed was unanimous. Arya threw her arms around Dria’s neck, and Dria around Arya’s waist, and they stayed like that for a good minute, sobbing.

“Arya.” Dria whispered, eventually holding her at arms length. “How much like your father you are.”

“How much like a warrior you are.” Arya replied, but she smiled.

“I am so sorry.” Dria sobbed.

“For what?” Arya replied. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I should not have abandoned you.”

“You have never abandoned me.” Arya scolded. “You never could. Our paths just ... diverted.”

Dria’s eyes scanned between Arya’s and then dropped to take in everything about her. “You grew up.”

“As did you.” Arya replied with a small smile, her eyes falling on where Gendry had still not noticed, and the child in his arms. “He’s a strong boy.” Arya nodded. “He will make a strong fighter some day. Like his dad.”

Dria followed her gaze and then looked back to Arya. Once again she had the impression Arya knew. Had Bran told her? How did Bran even know?

“I am pleased you and Gendry found each other.” Arya said matter-of-factly. “I know you were once Queen in the North, but that isn’t you anymore than a Lady is me.” Arya smiled at her. “I’ve always known you were meant for something else. Jon limited you.” Her eyes flicked to Gendry again. “I don’t believe in love, but I believe in you and he.” She nodded at Gendry, who had finally realised she was standing there.

Dria’s mouth twitched in a smile as she considered Arya’s words. She had grown wise in their time apart, and it showed. “I made a promise.” Dria said dryly as she could hear Gendry approaching.

“You made many.” Arya said, “You have broken none. Sansa and I are in Winterfell. You will always be there for Jon.” Arya spoke quickly, “You must now start making promises to yourself, Dria. And we will always back you up in them. You are now, and always will be, my sister.”

Dria gave her a warm smile just as Gendry and Benjen joined them.

The night a great gathering of the Lords of the North called in the hall of Winterfell. Dria sat awkwardly at the top of the room between Jon and Daenerys. She had hardly had time to speak with Sansa before the gathering, but she had thanked her for caring so much for her son in her absence. Sansa had asked where Dria’s loyalties lay, and Dria had reiterated, “My loyalties have always been with you and your siblings.” Her words had seemed to appease Sansa, who did not seem to warm to the dragon queen.

Gendry sat amongst the crowd beside Thoren, who served to represent their Wildling allies in this discussion to come. Jon was growing exhausted by the constant questions about the dragon queen and seemed close to snapping.

“For the last time,” He said in his booming voice, “I have brought the armies North with me to fight the threat of the dead. Cersei and the Lannister armies can wait.” He had said these words hundreds of times and still the lords were not having it.

Dria knew she had to do something. Jon was losing face the more he was repeating himself. The last straw came when one of the northern lords stood up and shouted, “Bringing a foreigner queen here is an insult to our own queen in the north.”

In that moment Dria knew she had to come clean. All eyes were on her as she slowly rose to her feet.

“My lords,” Dria got to her feet with a glance to Jon, a glance that told him all he needed to know. He gave her a small, agreeing nod and sank back into his own seat, “And ladies.” Dria added as the room fell silent. She knew the dragon queen still doubted her, she knew they all did, but now was the time to prove to them all, and herself, who she was. She had never been happier in many aspects: she had been reunited with her son, with her love, and with the family she had sworn to protect and to love. She was unstoppable, and she was about to prove it. Daenerys raised an eyebrow at the instant power Dria held over the people of the north. It was clear how much she was loved.

And she could not have the north rallying behind her when she was not the one who could do most for them. “If I may take a moment of your time.” She spoke clear and precisely, “I wish to understand why you are all so unwilling to accept Daenerys Targaryen under our roof. Is the North not a hospitable kingdom? Was that not Ned Stark’s way?” She glanced at Sansa who, in her opinion, had been one of the rallying forces in the hatred of Daenerys. Dria was no fan of the dragon queen but she could see the benefit to having her on side. Sansa wilted under Dria’s eyes as Dria turned back to the lords.

“The north has forever been a strong kingdom of unity, us against the rest of the kingdoms of Westeros. That can no longer be the case, my kin, if we are to survive.” They were hooked on her every word, the sound of silence heavy in the air. “May I draw your attention to myself. You welcomed me into your kingdom as a foreigner, and now you have made me your queen. You have let me bring my own foreign army and put them up inside our walls.”

“You fought bravely. They fought bravely.” One of the lords piped up.

“We all fought bravely.” Dria corrected him. As she spoke, she walked around the top table and stood in the centre of the room, appealing to each lord individually. “Every man and woman who fought to win back Winterfell did so bravely. It was not a question of allegiance when it was us against the Boltons. Why should it be a question of allegiance now we stand against the white walkers?” They fell silent again, knowing she had a point. “I fought no braver than any of you, my lords. Nor did I fight any braver than I have seen Queen Daenerys.” She felt sick admitting it, but it needed to be said. “When I first came to Winterfell I was a refugee. My homeland had been ripped apart by civil war. I was not necessarily of noble birth, not by Westerosi standards. I am certainly not of northern birth. I’m not even of Westerosi birth. Daenerys was born in Westeros, and she is a noble. If you were so willing to make me queen by nothing more than marriage, why should you not look to her for leadership and allow her armies to refuge here for the war to come? She deserves your loyalty far more than I. As does Sansa Stark, or Jon Snow. They have far more claim to this title than I.”

Dria glanced behind her. Her heart was heavy, but the words were coming before she could stop them. Jon could see it in her eyes. He rose to his feet as though to stop her, but a shake of her head stopped him. She turned back to the room.

“Therefore, if we are to continue in this war against the real evil, there should not be secrets within your own walls.” Whispering, so heavy that Dria was forced to hold up her hands to stop it. “It is, after much deliberation, my decision to renounce the title that you so kindly bestowed upon me, that of Queen in the North, a title you so kindly bestowed upon me, a refugee, a servant.”

The room erupted into argument and shouting that was only silenced by the Hound banging his fist on his table. Dria frowned at him, confused that he should come to her aid, but she didn’t argue. She still had to shout over the remaining noise as the room slowly silenced itself to muttering so that Dria could continue. “I am grateful for all that you have given me by it. I am no longer Queen in the North. I renounce my title, and...” She glanced at Jon, and then stared determinedly at the back wall, her fists clenched and her head held high, “I renounce my marriage to Jon Snow.”

Gendry and Thoren were amongst those who got to their feet in shock, though their faces were full of concern and compassion for the single-handed struggle Dria was facing. Dria could feel the room about to explode again but they were silenced by Jon also getting to his feet. He knew that in what she was doing she was martyring herself for the sake of him, and it broke his heart, but was too late now to take it back.

“My lords, ladies, please.” Dria said exasperatedly, her voice louder than she had hoped. “Jon Snow is a loyal man, and this separation was not his idea. Do not look unkindly upon him for it, but on me. I am the foreigner, after all. I am Adria Tawn, a refugee of Dauphin...” She clenched her fists harder. She had to make it a clean sweep. She glanced at Gendry and then looked to the floor. “And, what is more. My son Benjen is Snow by birth, and not through my marriage to Jon Snow.” The whisperings built up again. She saw Gendry sink back to sitting, incredulous. “I lay with another man and so my son is a bastard. He is not a prince, nor has he any right to be.” She could not meet anyone’s eye. “I am sorry for deceiving you. It was my doing, and not Jon Snow’s. He should remain to be your king in the north, and you should remain loyal to him.”

Dria made to leave the room, unable to hold it back anymore. Gendry got to his feet and made to follow, to comfort her, but they were both stayed by Jon banging his tankard on the table.

“My lords and ladies.” He said, his voice booming over the stone. “I would remind you that we have much bigger problems to face than the issues around the parentage of Benjen Snow or marriage of Dria Tawn. This is the stuff of gossip, and we are better than that.”

Dria looked to him from the doorway.

“This revelation changes nothing. It does not view the way I view Dria, and it should not change the way you do. She deceived out of love, I’m sure you can understand. We are all human. What isn’t human is the threat coming to us from the North. In light of such threat, I would like to reiterate that Dria is one of my most trusted advisors, even now. Nothing will change that. She is a good teacher, a good mother, and a strong fighter. You said so yourself.” There were mutterings of agreement. “Her decision to denounce her title and our decision to separate does not change her position in the North and in Winterfell. Dria Tawn remains the Captain of my personal guard and will continue to fight beside me in the battles to come. Her son, Benjen Snow, will grow up within the walls of Winterfell as a ward for as long as she, his mother, wishes. I would remind you all that Dria has never, in light of all of this, lost sight of the bigger picture. So I invite you, my lords and ladies, to leave the sanctuary of Winterfell if you cannot agree and move forward.” Jon growled. “What is more,” He added, “if you cannot accept that we have an ally in Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen. Dria is right. There are bigger things.”

His words resonated as, one-by-one, everyone in the room turned and bowed their heads to Dria. She blinked incredulously at the response, her eyes flicking to Jon, who nodded his own head. That was all that was needed. Everything was out, no more secrets. Now they could focus on the reality.

It was the first time Dria had been alone since returning to Winterfell. It was late at night and the hall was filled with feasting following the excitement of the briefing. Dria had taken herself off to the crypts to view the statues Sansa had commissioned to be installed in their absence. Bold and striking, the statues were a macabre freeze that symbolised the Stark’s downfall, piece by piece.

Dria looked up at the stone face of Ned Stark as he looked down at her with his permanent stern expression. She hadn’t seen that face in years and it brought tears to her eyes and a knot to her stomach to look at the melancholy carving. Even now, after everything, she felt sorry for all she had done, or not done, for his children. Sansa had wasted no expense in the features. Every deep Northern line was etched into the rock. There was a scolding in his face, but also a kindness, as in life.

Dria lit the candle in his hand with her own shaking fingers and took a moment before she spoke. It was the first time she had been able to bring herself to visit the family she felt she had betrayed.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered. “For everything. I couldn’t protect them all like you asked. But... they’re home. The girls are home, and Bran. I cannot say they are safe, but they’re home.”

A silence filled the damp walls as she looked into his eyes. He didn’t seem to be angry for which she was relieved.

The skitter of a pebble along the stone floor of the crypt behind Dria pulled her from her thoughts. She sniffled back her tears and turned to the dark archway leading to the Stark tomb, wrapping her cloak around herself as the winter winds blew through the tunnel. Gendry stood framed in the place where the light faded and the torches took over, his bulking shoulders filling the space.

“Sorry.” He said quietly, “Did I interrupt?”

“No.” Dria said with a small smile. “I just had some things to say.”

Dria looked back up at Ned as she felt Gendry approach her side, shivering as he was in the Northern winds that he was not accustomed to. Dria let out a small chuckle as she watched him blow into his fingers.

“Did you manage to say them?” Gendry asked softly, putting a hand gently on her waist.

Dria began to nod but then shook her head. “There’s too much to say. There’s just so much to apologise for.”

“Why apologise?” Gendry frowned.

“Because of everything that happened. With Arya and Sansa...”

“You did the best you could. You were the best they had.”

Dria shook her head again. “I could have done better. He would be so disappointed.” It was clear she was exhausted after everything.

“Ned?” Gendry let out a laugh from the back of his throat, “I think you’re over-thinking, my love. I only met the man once but he didn’t seem the type to hold grudges. Serious, true, and fiercely Northern, but you have nothing to apologise for. And he would say that too.”

“The last thing he said to me...” Dria frowned at the memory. It felt so long since that time she had stood in the Hand’s chambers in Kings Landing. So long ago, so far away, almost a lifetime. “Was ‘I hope you will always do your best to protect them. Take them North.’”

“And you did both of those things. They’re home, Dria, and you helped with that.” Gendry pulled her closer to him in a reassuring manner.

“He told me that he thought of me as a daughter.”

“You were his daughter.” Gendry reminded her. “By law.”

“He never approved of my marriage to Jon.”

“But he called you his daughter nonetheless.”

Dria nodded, “He was more of a father than my own. He taught me how to be a leader.” Her eyes slid to Catelyn’s statue beside Ned, “And Lady Catelyn taught me how to be a mother.” She hesitated. “I never got to say goodbye to her.”

“Say it now.” Gendry said softly. Dria swallowed hard and then slipped past him to stand in front of Catelyn. Her features were carved to be softer than Ned’s, as they were in life, yet still hardened and Northern.

“Thank you.” Dria said with a hard swallow. “Your daughters are home. I know that’s all you ever wanted.” She lightly touched the statue.

“I wish I could have met her.” Gendry said softly. “Arya used to speak fondly of her mother.”

Dria scoffed. “Not to her face. Lady Catelyn always wanted Arya to be a lady.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m glad Arya did not listen. She has grown into such a strong human.” Dria’s eyes took in Gendry as he stood before her. She stepped closer to him, her cloak rustling on the ground, and leant into him, her hands clasped in front of her chest and her head reclined to look up at him. He wrapped his strong arms around her waist. “She would have liked you. You and Robb would have been firm friends.”

Gendry scoffed with a smile. “I would have been pleased to meet them.”

“Did you know your own mother?”

Gendry shook his head. “She died when I was small. I remember her having yellow hair, and working in a tavern, or a brothel. That’s where she met my father.”

“Did you ever meet him?” Dria asked.

Gendry shook his head again. “It didn’t give a shit about me. I don’t even know if he knew I existed.”

“Ned did. He worked it out. And Cersei. Robert might have worked it out too.”

“From what I’ve heard he was a fat drunk. I’m glad I didn’t know him. I might have become him.”

“With respect my love, there’s still time for that.” She patted his stomach teasingly and he pushed her away with a laugh before pulling her close again. She sighed and rested her head against his chest. “I never liked Robert. The way he used to look at me.”

There was a pause as Gendry kissed the top of her darkly haired head and looked up at Ned and Catelyn. His eyes drifted to a statue on Ned’s right. “Who’s she?”

Dria followed his eyeline.

“Lady Lyanna Stark. Ned’s sister. The one who your father was supposed to marry.”

Gendry’s eyebrow twitched. “She’s beautiful.”

“Rhaegar Targaryen thought so too.” She said with a raised eyebrow. “That’s why he stole her.”

“How different it might have been.” Gendry frowned. “I may not have been born. If he loved her he wouldn’t have strayed.”

“Ned loved Catelyn.” Dria said with a careful look to Gendry, “He strayed.”

“Under Robert’s influence, according to the stories.” Gendry shrugged. “Still, it means Jon and I have something in common.

“Besides me.” Dria said.

“Besides love for you.” Gendry corrected.

Dria nodded softly. “You may have been born a Prince.” She suggested, not wanting to talk about Jon.

“Instead of a bastard you mean?” Gendry finished for her.

“Does it ever bother you that you’re the rightful heir to the throne?” Dria asked before she could stop herself. “Stannis promised you it.”

Gendry scoffed. “Robert Baratheon was a usurper. He took the throne from the Targaryens.”

“You’ve spent too much time in the Dragon Queen’s presence.” Dria rolled her eyes. Her expression became serious. “I mean it. Everyone thinks Jon is the Prince that was promised... the red woman and Beric Dondarrion.” Dria hesitated, swallowing hard. “Maybe it was you. The Prince that was promised.”

“Pull the other one.” Gendry scoffed again. “Dria, I don’t know the first thing about ruling a castle let alone seven kingdoms. I’d make as good a King as Arya would a lady.”

Dria giggled. “Perhaps you’re right.” She nodded. “It’s a good job you’re a decent blacksmith.” She teased.

Gendry shook his head at her. “When this is over, Dria, you and me and Benji. We should run away. Like we said.”

Dria swallowed and looked up at Ned and Catelyn again. “I can’t.” Dria said, “I can’t just leave. I promised I’d protect them. And protect them I shall until they no longer want me to.”

“You’re too noble for your own good.” Gendry shook his head at her and kissed her on the forehead softly.

“We should get back.” Dria said, standing on tiptoe to kiss him on the lips and then turning away with a final glance at the statues. Gendry watched her walk down the crypt tunnel before turning to Ned. He may have never officially met Dria’s parents, but he silently vowed to do those who had raised her proud.

Dria held her hand backwards to him. There was no need to hide their love now, everything was out. And that meant Benjen could know the truth. That was the next hurdle, and then it was the battle to come. She couldn’t face it without righting every wrong that she had influenced.


	37. Chapter 8: The Ending That Was Promised (Pt. 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Dria and the others garrisoned at Winterfell prepare for the Long Night, there are a few things Dria has to say to a few people.

Preparing for a war with no known time of attack was always going to be difficult. They knew it was coming in, that it would be here soon, but living in a state of not knowing was driving Jon and Dria insane. Every hour was spent in the preparation. Dria had hardly seen Gendry as he prepared weapons to arm the masses. He was up first thing every morning and came to bed long after dark. Dria spent every moment commanding and organising troops and placing small wooden figures on the map in the great hall. Any way they looked at it, this was a war that was going to be hard to win.

Dria knew this. She could feel it in her bones. She was exhausted, too terrified to sleep in case she dreamt of the emptiness again. Not once had she had a premonition that showed her that they would survive the fight to come. Every time all she saw was devastation, fire and death. So she did not sleep. She spent her time with the map trying to strategise.

It was here that the Dragon Queen found her.

“May we talk?” Daenerys asked from the shadows.

Dria started and looked up. She had been so lost in her thoughts that she had not heard the door open. “Your grace,” She said, covering herself, “Of course. You’ll forgive me if I keep working, though.”

“Of course.” Daenerys sat opposite her and watched her carefully, her eyes flickering with the flame from the fireplace as she watched Dria move counters across the board. “How did you come to this life, Adria?”

Dria swallowed hard. This was the first time she had been alone with the Dragon Queen, the first time she realised just how much she was a hard woman to read. She surveyed her carefully. “What do you mean, your grace?” She said through a dry mouth.

“This life.” Daenerys looked around her. “This life of sacrifice for the cause, slaving away over war charts, denouncing crowns and still having the hearts of the people.” There was an edge to her voice.

Dria gave Daenerys her full attention. For a Dragon Queen she was icy in her composure and not from the snow outside. If Dria hadn’t known better she would have called the colour of her complexion envy. She had seen it on Sansa many a time. Dria bristled.

“I worked for it.” Dria replied. “Where I come from women do not comply to simply marriage and children. We stand for so much more and, in my time on Westeros, it has been my duty to uphold that inheritance.”

“By manipulating the men around you?” Daenerys cocked an eyebrow.

Dria frowned. “No. Not at all.”

“You seem to have every man you’ve ever met at your beck and call. Jon never stops talking about you. The blacksmith is enraptured by you. Ser Davos tells me to listen to you above all others. Even my own hand speaks highly of you. I want to know your secret. I want to know how you have come from nothing, a refugee, to the power you now possess.” It was definitely envy.

Dria thought about it. She could easily say the wrong thing and alienate herself from the Dragon Queen. Dria sighed. “It was never intentional. I do not seek to manipulate, as you put it. I never have. I have always simply been grateful for the hand I have been dealt. I have been through much, your highness. I was, as you say, a refugee. I had no choice but to flee my homeland and that set me up for a life of hostility and war. I never had a choice but to learn to deal with it, to face it instead of running away. I may have come to this country with little but my life, whatever that was worth. I may have often done things I am not proud of, or put myself in situations I should have run from. That is not in my nature. Loyalty, duty and honour is in my blood, your highness, whether that be by Ned Stark’s nurture or my own DNA. I may have been a refugee, your grace, but I have never been nothing.”

Daenerys looked at her for long time with an unreadable expression as thought trying to think of how best to reply. Dria stared cooly back at her. Since the conversation in the great hall Dria had found a new strength of resolve within herself. She felt she had more to prove now that she was no longer tied to her title or to Jon. Prove to who, she did not know. Herself?

“I admire you.” Daenerys said eventually, catching Dria off guard.

“I’m sorry.”

“I admire you.” Daenerys repeated. “And I don’t often say that, in fact I never do. I was so ready to find competition in you. To pit you against myself as I have done Cersei. You were Queen in the North, the most powerful woman this side of Dragonstone. Now I know that I was wrong to do that. I see that I have wasted time in being jealous of you when I could have been using your knowledge and standing for my own cause. You are not my enemy and I should never have seen you as such. Forgive me, Adria.”

Dria blinked at her, her mouth dry. “There is nothing to forgive, your grace.” Dria choked eventually. She shook her head, clearing her awe. “Thank you for your honesty. I had no idea you felt such a way about me. Please know that I never wish to be a threat to you. I, too, have been dealt a hand by the Cersei Lannisters of the world. I want nothing more than to see a woman such as yourself on the throne. But the last time there was a foreigner queen who crossed the Lannisters, it didn’t end well.” Dria looked at her carefully.

“Who was that?” Daenerys faltered.

“Talisa. Consort of Robb Stark, King in the North.” Dria said warningly.

Daenerys frowned at her momentarily, her eyes dark before she brushed it off. “Thank you for saying that.” Daenerys said. There was a danger in her voice that Dria did not fully pick up on. “If we are to survive the battles to come I should very much like to have you in my court.” Daenerys got to her feet and turned to leave, nodding her farewell.

Dria spoke before she could stop herself. “I’m afraid that will not happen.”

Daenerys turned back to her slowly. “I’m sorry?”

“I respect you, your grace, and I wish to see you on the throne. But my loyalty is not to you. My loyalty is to Jon, and always will be.”

“To Jon?” Daenerys cocked an eyebrow. “I thought you had given yourself to the blacksmith.”

“Gendry.” Dria corrected her, feeling fire in her own belly. “I give myself to no-one. I choose companionship where I find love. Who I love does not dictate where my loyalty lies. My loyalty goes much deeper than that. I have known Jon Snow since we were children. He is now and always will be my priority and I belong at his side, in his court.”

“We shall see.” Daenerys said coolly. “After all... you spoke so profoundly for the foreigners of this world. Do you not think us foreigners should stick together?” Daenerys smirked before turning and leaving, not allowed Dria the chance to respond.

Dria stared after her, her mind reeling. She felt torn in two. She sank into the chair behind her and found herself staring into the fire, her exhaustion washing over her as she contemplated the options she had ahead. Debate of which monarch should sit on the Iron Throne and who they should have in their court felt petty compared to the army of the dead marching upon them. Who knew if they would even survive that long? Besides, Dria knew that if she ever said yes to Daenerys she would regret it more than anything in her life. No. She stood firm. Her loyalty was to Jon, to the Starks and to the North. No Dragon Queen would or could ever change that. Dria got back to her feet and returned to plotting her army’s position. She knew little of the cogs of monarchy. This was where she belonged, with her troops, loyal. So there she stayed for several more hours as night turned to dawn outside.

“You should sleep, my lady.” Came a very familiar voice as Dria stared at the dolphin figurehead in her hand. She looked up and into the eyes of Ser Davos. “Gendry said you’ve been here all night.”

“Have I?” Dria set down the figurehead and looked to the windows. “I suppose that’s true.”

“Do you not think the best thing you should do is rest? You won’t last two seconds in the battle to come if you die of exhaustion first.” Davos spoke softly, his voice comforting. “You should spend time with your son before he is sent to the crypts with the others.”

“The crypts?” Dria frowned at Davos.

“Yes. That is where the woman and children are to be sent.” Davos explained.

“The women?” Dria raised an eyebrow.

Davos chuckled. “Not all women carry themselves as yourself, Lady Brienne and Arya Stark do, my lady. Most women are not fighters.”

“Have you asked them?” Dria argued. “Given them a sword, asked them to wield it? I’m sure most of them would surprise you.”

“I’m sure they would.” Davos shrugged. “But now is not the time for training new soldiers.”

“Why not? When we need every able bodied person?” Dria got to her feet. “I’ll train them myself...” She made to walk but her knees buckled and Davos only just caught her.

“No.” Davos said assertively. “The only place you are going is your chamber. You will sleep.”

“You’re not the boss of me.” Dria argued, brushing him off. “I’m fine.”

“What of all the little girls who look up to you? Is this the example you wish to set? Work yourself to death before you have a chance to fight?” Davos gave her a look.

Dria was forced to concede with a heavy sigh. “No.” She nodded. “Alright. A few hours. I want to be woken before noon.”

“That’s in five hours.” Davos frowned at her.

“Your point?” Dria looked at him dangerously.

“Of course, my lady.” Davos shook his head at her. “I worry about you.”

“Worry about yourself.” Dria said firmly. “If you spend your time worrying about others then we’ll all be dead before the army of the dead is through.” She made her way to the door.

“Words of wisdom from our fearless leader.” Davos shook his head. His face turned serious as he followed her, falling in step beside her as she made her way up to her chamber. “How are you doing, really? After everything that went down in council.”

“I thought you wanted me to sleep, not talk.” Dria asked.

“It might help you to sleep if you talked.” Davos argued wisely.

Dria rolled her eyes. “There’s nothing to say. Jon and I are finished, I left one bastard for another, my son is a bastard, and that is how we shall all die.”

Davos raised his eyebrows and caught her arm, stopping her in her tracks. “This doesn’t sound like you. You’ve always been optimistic.”

“You know what we are facing.” Dria shook her head. “It’s kind of hard to find the silver lining.”

“Try harder.” Davos scolded. “We cannot do this if you’ve already given up.”

Dria met his eye for a moment before sighing heavily. She nodded. “I’m sorry. I need to sleep. I’ll find optimism when I wake.”

“That’s my girl.” Davos squeezed her arm and left her to walk the rest of the way to her chamber.

She knew Davos was right. If she lost faith then they stood no chance. They could not win this with even a shred of doubt. Dria lay down on top of the covers and instantly fell asleep. She was too plagued with exhaustion to remember any dream she may have had, which was always a bonus.

She was woken hours later by the sound of a horn in the courtyard. She woke with a start, still in the position she had laid in, guessing it was far past noon from the light outside. She flung herself to her feet and hurried through the castle to the courtyard just as what remained of the Nights Watch arrived. There were reunions all round as she embraced Dolorous Edd, current Lord Commander, and was greeted by Beric Dondarrion and Tormund. Dria listened as they informed Jon that the army would be here within the day. Suddenly it all felt very real.

The castle sprung to life in preparation. Women and children filed into the crypts whilst soldiers hurried to and from the armoury to receive the weapons Gendry had been working tirelessly on. Jon held a summit of the leaders to give final strategy and orders. Bran felt the Night King would come for him, so after Theon Greyjoy returned with a handful of Ironborn loyals the plan was hatched for them to be Bran’s personal guard. Dria ordered Aalto to station the Dauphinian armies inside the gates, the last defence before the Godswood if the outer wall was to be breached. As Dauphinian soldiers fought with spears it made sense for them to set up a barricade. They were smaller than the Unsullied, Dothraki, Knights of the Vale or Northern armies but they would fight to the last man. Jon dismissed the group to go to their duties and one by one they filtered from the hall until only he and Dria were left.

There was a stony silence for a moment before Jon spoke, his voice heavy. “Dria, you should go.”

“What?”

“Yes.” Jon looked at her seriously. “Take Gendry and Benjen and leave.”

“No.” She shook her head, shocked he would ask such a thing of her.

“What do you mean no? The army of the dead is coming.”

“I’m very aware of that Jon. I’m not leaving.” Dria argued.

“Sometimes you are too stubborn for your own good.” Jon scoffed at her.

“I was raised by Northerners.” Dria shot back at him.

“They will be here by dawn.” Jon argued back.

Dria’s expression softened. “Precisely. They will be here by dawn and then there will be no running ever again. What’s a few hours?”

“You have a chance to live. Your son...”

“For how long?” Dria shook her head, interrupting him.. “This, right here, is the last stand for humanity. If I do not make a stand then I will regret it for however many days I have left.”

“The dead cannot cross the water. Take Gendry and Benjen and go home.” Jon was almost begging.

“And do what? Live in exile? In cowardice? No, Jon. That’s not me.” Dria stared him down. “If I stay we have a chance at defeating them.”

“You’re saying you’re the defining factor?” Jon scoffed.

“Maybe I am.” Dria’s eyes fixed on his. “What was that about stubbornness?”

“What about Benji? You would put your son in harm’s way?” Jon was grasping at straws.

“He has a better chance at surviving here than out there.” Dria disputed. “Out there we would last, what, a few days? No. There is no point.”

Jon sighed, exasperated at her for her stubbornness but knowing she was right. He was glad she was so determined to stay. He needed her. He looked at her. “Alright. Send him to the crypts. Sansa will...”

“No.” Dria said again.

“What do you mean ‘no’? Is that just your answer to everything?” Jon growled.

“This is an army of the dead, Jon. Do you not see how stupid it is to send everyone to where the dead lie?” Dria appealed to him.

Jon’s eyes widened in realisation. “By the Gods... we have to...”

“It’s too late.” Dria shook her head. “I tried to argue it before but I was shot down. Just. Send the Nights Watch down there. Have them protect the women and children.” Dria ran her hands through her hair. “No. Benjen will not be going to the crypts. Benjen will be barricaded with his handmaiden in our chamber on the top floor. If you have any sense you will send Oswen and Sansa there too.”

“A handmaiden? A handmaiden will do no good.” Jon could not believe how stupid he had been.

“Have you forgotten? Benjen’s handmaiden is Dauphinian. She will stand.” Dria said.

“Like you?” Jon said admiringly.

“Perhaps it is not just Northern stubbornness that fuels my decisions.” She smiled at him in spite of the situation. “You know my place is by your side. You are my King, no matter what titles you denounce, and I will fight alongside you as your Captain. I will not abandon you or my post when you need me the most.” She stood directly in front of him as he surveyed her face carefully.

“You are a fool.” He said.

“Perhaps. But I am a fool who will go down fighting.” Dria offered him a small smile.

“Gendry is a lucky man in you.” Jon admitted.

“Jon.” Dria breathed, standing close to him. “I am so sorry for the hand we have been dealt.”

“Don’t be.” Jon shook his head, his hand on her cheek. “Knowing you has been the greatest honour of my life.”

“Will you tell Thoren the truth before the dead arrive?” Dria asked softly.

Jon frowned, then nodded. “Will you let Benjen know his father?”

Dria considered his words hard before nodding too. “I will.”

“We do not have long.” Jon glanced to the sky outside. “You should find Gendry, find your son, say what you need to say.”

“When I’m finished saying what I need to say here.” Dria met his eye and clutched his wrist. “I love you, Jon. It is my greatest wish to see you happy.”

“And I you.” Jon replied. Before either of them knew it he had planted a single kiss on her lips. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Dria smiled at him and then left the chamber to find her son. There was much to say and not a lot of time to say it as the sun began to set outside.

Benjen and Gendry were both in the workshop, Gendry agitatedly pacing whilst Benjen happily played with a tiny hammer.

“Ah, finally.” Gendry said with a hastened kiss to Dria as she arrived. “He’s been asking for you. I’m being pressured to send him to the crypts.”

“That’s not happening.” Dria said assertively, stooping to pick up their son. “Come.” She turned and headed back to the castle, Gendry following. Most of the soldiers who needed to be armoured had been by now. Now it was simply a waiting game. Gendry followed Dria through the halls as she carried Benjen and he asked what was happening. She did not answer until they had reached the chamber, setting Benji down on the bed and tucking him under the covers.

“Dria,” Gendry asked, “what are you doing?”

“Putting our son to bed.” Dria replied. There were thick tears in her eyes that she fought to quench. “Benji.” Dria stroked her sons black hair as she sat beside him. “My love. I have to tell you something, and you must listen. There are things going to happen but you’re going to be safe here, Avisa will come and look after you.”

“Where will you be?” Benji asked.

“I will be busy.” She offered him a small smile. “But it’ll be okay, you’ll be asleep.”

“Where’s father?” Benji frowned.

Dria closed her eyes for a second to hide her tears. Benji wasn’t stupid, he knew something was wrong. “Jon... Jon is not your father. He’s... your uncle.” Benjen’s eyes widened as he stared at her.

“Who is my father?” He asked, his simple three-year old brain struggling to comprehend.

Dria smiled at him and glanced over to Gendry.

“I am.” Gendry replied, stepping forward. His own eyes were shining with tears as he smiled at his son.

“Gendry?” Benji looked from Dria to Gendry and back for confirmation. Dria nodded.

“Yeah.” Gendry perched on the bed beside him. “I’m sorry I’ve been away, but I’m here now, and I love you so very much. I haven’t been a very good father but I promise I will. Once your mother and I do what we have to do.” Gendry gently touched Benji’s hair. Benji looked between them again, then at the sheets as he thought about it, frowning, then back at Gendry. He smiled.

“Okay.” He said, nodding. Gendry’s smile widened. “Will you teach me to make swords?”

“I will teach you to make any weapon you like.” Gendry said through his smile. “And your mother will teach you how to use it.” He smiled at Dria and then reached out to take Benji’s hand in both of his. “We’re going to be a family now, Benji. You, me, and your mother.”

Benjen yawned and nodded. “I like that.” He laid back on the pillows. “I’m going to be a knight.” His eyes drifted closed and he began to snore. Dria blinked back her tears and leant down to kiss him on the forehead.

“Goodnight my love.” She whispered, stroking his face. She tried not to dwell on what was to come. “I love you, my son.”

“I love you too mother.” Benji whispered in his sleep. Dria sobbed and got to her feet so that Gendry could kiss his son goodnight for the first, and hopefully not last, time.

“I’ll get Avisa.” Dria said, dimming the candles. “I’ll make sure they’re safe.”

Gendry stood before Dria and kissed her gently. “Thank you.” He whispered. “For that.”

Dria nodded. “I didn’t want what is coming to happen without the truth being known.” She let Gendry hold her close for a split second, revelling in his warmth, before returning to business. “We should prepare.”

“When you have set Avisa up,” Gendry said, “Will you come to the workshop? I have something for you.”

Dria frowned at him but nodded in agreement. “I’ll be there soon.” Gendry nodded and left her to it.

Leaving her son in the chamber was the hardest thing she had ever had to do. A small part of her wished Jon had been given chance to say what he needed to, but he declined on the grounds it would confuse the boy. Dria felt a small part of her heart lifted by Gendry having his moment with his son as she crossed the courtyard to the workshop. It was a small gesture but it meant so much. She prayed to all Gods that Benji would be safe in the chamber. She had chosen Avisa as one of her own prodigies. She trusted her to protect her son. Dria just had to make sure it never got to a point where Avisa would have to fight.

Dria was distracted by Arya leaving the workshop as she entered. Arya said nothing, simply gave Dria a look that made her frown.

“Gendry?” Dria called softly as she entered the dark workshop.

“Over here.” Gendry replied. He was outlined by the firelight as he pulled something from the cooling bucket.

“Why was Arya here?”

“She was collecting her weapon.” Gendry answered, a small uncontrollably smile on his lips.

Dria frowned at him as she perched on the workbench. “Why are you smiling?” She asked.

“Arya.” Gendry said by way of explanation. When that didn’t fly he chuckled and shook his head. “She came to me with a proposition.”

“What proposition?” Dria asked, taken aback by his amused expression at a time like this.

“She er,” Gendry laughed in spite of himself, “she asked if I would sleep with her.”

“Come again?” Dria raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah. I gave her her weapon, we talked, she asked me about my first time. I told her it was with you.”

“Was it?” Dria asked. Gendry’s eyes widened, realising he’d never told her that.

“I... er... yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. Dria giggled uncontrollably.

“I didn’t know that.” She smiled at him.

“Yeah, well. Arya asked me about it and about our other times. And whether I had had other times.” Gendry explained as Dria frowned again, intrigued.

“Have you had other times?” Dria asked cautiously.

“Twice.” Gendry blinked at her. “The red woman at Dragonstone and a woman in a brothel...” He avoided her eye contact as her smile faded. “I... I was trying to get over you.” He looked back at her.

Dria smiled at him again. “Is that true?”

Gendry nodded. “I’m not proud of being such a romantic git.”

“I am.” Dria said softly. “For the record, my number is three too. And you know about them all.”

There was a moment between them as he smiled at her.

“Why did Arya want to know?” Dria brought the conversation back.

“Well, she asked about it and then she, er, said she didn’t want to die without knowing what it was like.” He glanced nervously at Dria to gauge her reaction.

“Arya?” Dria laughed a little, incredulous. “What did you say?”

“I said no, of course.” Gendry blinked at her. “Why, did you think I should have said different?”

“You should have said yes.” Dria smiled at him, reaching out to pull him closer to her by his shirt. “She should know how great a lover you are.” He was between her legs now as she perched on the worktop and she kissed him.

He grinned at her. “There’s only one woman I want to spend my last night with.” He whispered, kissing her again. “There’s only one woman I’ve wanted to spend every night with since I met her.”

Dria smiled at him, her hands on his chest, and kissed him again. The kiss quickly turned passionate as she pulled at his shirt and his hands ran through her hair, down her back and across her belt to unbuckle her trousers. They made wild, passionate love on top of the workbench as if it was the last time. When they were finished and Gendry had retied his trousers, Dria hesitated as she tied her own.

“Why did you call me down here?” She asked, slightly out of breath.

“Oh, of course.” Gendry said, having entirely forgotten everything for a moment. He crossed to beside the fire and held up an armoured bodice. Dria felt her breath catch in her throat as she looked at it. “You told me your old one was getting a little tight and to be honest it had seen enough combat, so I made you a new one. I think I know your measurements pretty well.” He held it out for her to take.

Dria took it in her hands with an expression of awe on her face. It was the most beautiful piece of armour she had ever seen, dark black with circular ridges, tipped with silver, the dolphin of her house etched into the chest. The shoulders were dimensional with sharp points of dragon-glass protruding. Dria ran her fingers over it reverently.

“Gendry...” She breathed. “I... What is it made of?”

“That...” Gendry said proudly, “Is dragon-scale.” Dria stared at him. “The Queen had me make it for you this morning. Jon suggested the dragon-glass and the design, that was me. Clearly it’s more than just me that needs you to be protected out there.” He smiled at her. “Do you like it?”

“I love it.” Dria breathed. She silently asked him to help her put it on and he obliged. As he fastened it around her waist she couldn’t help but think things weren’t as bleak as she had initially thought. It instantly made her feel more like the warrior she knew she was. She kissed him in thanks and he stroked her hair from her face, his expression speaking volumes. They would get through this, and they would do it together.

Gendry stepped back to look at her in the bodice and smiled. "I love you." He said. "Dria, you have made me happier than I ever thought I could be."

Dria met his eye and felt her heart swell with love for him. After everything they had been through, through it all, he had remained what she always knew him to be. A good man. One she would follow to the ends of the earth, the death and beyond. 

"Marry me." She said before she could stop herself. He frowned at her. 

"What?" 

"Marry me." She asked again, assured in her words. 

"Dria..." Gendry laughed incredulously, not sure she was serious. "I'm a bastard. I can give you nothing."

"You can give me everything I've ever wanted." She kissed him to show him just how serious she was. "I have spent my life running, a refugee, a fugitive. When I'm with you I know where I belong. I don't care if you're a bastard. I never have. All I care about is that you are a good man. When this all said and done I want to be nothing but your wife, the mother to your children, a family. Marry me." She asked a third time. 

Gendry smiled at her and nodded. "Of course I'll marry you. That's all I've ever wanted, too. You're all I've ever wanted. You're what has kept me living all these years." He kissed her to seal the deal and she kissed him back, both of them assured. No matter what happened they would go down together, the way they had always wanted.


	38. Episode 8: The Ending That Was Promised (Pt. 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dria and her companions face the Long Night and she sacrifices everything to do what has to be done, finally fulfilling her promise to Ned Stark and to Arya.

The remainder of the night was spent in the great hall with Brienne, Podrick, Tyrion, Jaime, Tormund, Davos and Thoren, sharing stories and singing songs and reminiscing about their lives so far. Dria sat with her hand in Gendry’s, neither of them wanting to let go. She sang a song from her homeland about the memory of water and he fell further in love with her.

“It must have been glorious.” Tyrion remarked.

“It was.” Dria replied.

“I shouldn’t imagine any of us will see the sea again.” Brienne sighed.

“No.” Dria agreed. “Nor grass.”

“Daylight.” Podrick added.

“But what a life it’s been.” Davos said, brightening the conversation. They all looked to him. “Everyone in this room has lived, and that is all we can ask.”

They all smiled and nodded in agreement.

The sound of the horn filled the halls.

The time for lamenting was over.

The dead were here.

Everything happened at once, everyone running to and fro to prepare and to set up for the battle to end all battles.

Dria kissed Gendry goodbye as he made his way to the outer flanks where he would fight alongside Beric, the Hound and Tormund. They had said their real goodbyes in the workshop and they both fought their emotions as they looked once more upon each other.

“Come back to me alive.” Dria begged him, clutching his jerkin and stroking his cheek.

“You too.” He blinked back tears as he kissed her one last time before Beric tore him away.

Dria forced herself to swallow her fear and headed through the castle to where she would be stationed. Jon caught her arm on his way to saddle Rhaegal, the dragon he would be riding into battle.

“Stay alive.” He said firmly. “Do us all proud.”

Dria nodded. “Reign fire upon them.” She replied. He kissed her cheek, squeezed her fingers and was gone in the mass of soldiers running to and fro. Dria exited the castle and crossed the courtyard.

“Dria!” It was Sansa on her way to the crypts, Oswen in her arms and Gilly beside her. They hurried to Dria, paused, and then Sansa threw her arms around Dria’s neck. “I’m sorry for everything I ever did to hurt you.”

“You never need to apologise.” Dria replied, hugging Sansa back, careful not to stab her with dragon-glass. She held her at arm’s length. “Do your father proud down there. Protect those who cannot protect themselves.” She gave her a look.

Sansa nodded. “May my father look upon you through this long night, the daughter he always wanted in you.” She replied, kissing Dria on the cheek.

“I wish we had had more time to catch up.” Gilly said heavily, hugging Dria.

“There’s always tomorrow.” Dria replied. Gilly nodded and she and Sansa turned away, hurrying to the crypts. Dria caught Tyrion’s eye as he too descended.

“Keep them alive!” She called after him.

“Same to you.” He called back. “Show them what you’re made of.”

The door to the crypt rolled shut and Dria turned back to the courtyard, still bustling with activity as the armies fled the gates to make rank. Gendry had gone with them and she prayed to all the Gods that she would see him again.

“Dria.” It was Theon, wheeling Bran into the Godswood. He stood before her and met her eye sheepishly. “I just ... I wanted to say... you and I, we should have been friends. I was never good to you and I’m sorry. We both came here as strangers and I should have done more.”

Dria blinked at him and shook her head. “No.” She put her arms around him. “You did plenty.” She held him close for a moment and then stepped back. “Make Ned proud. Protect his children as we vowed to do.”

Theon nodded at her.

“Dria.” Bran met her eye. “Remember your own vow.” He held her gaze and then his eyes drifted to the stairs to the battlements where Arya stood with Lyanna. He looked back at Dria as she frowned at him, not fully understanding. “Keep her safe.” He said wisely before he gestured for Theon to continue on their way. Dria looked over to Arya with her eyebrows knitting together. What had Bran meant? Arya could protect herself. Dria blinked and headed over, leaving Aalto to put the troops in rank.

“Arya.” Dria said as she approached. “My lady.” She bowed her head to Lyanna.

“Dria.” Lyanna said.

“What are you doing out here, my lady?” Dria asked, taking in Lyanna’s armour.

“My place is not in the crypts. My place is with my men.” Lyanna nodded to the handful of Mormont soldiers mixing with the Dauphinians. “As yours is with yours. I will not allow anyone to tell me otherwise.”

“Nor should they.” Dria agreed with a small nod. She turned to Arya. “Where will you be?”

“Battlements.” Arya nodded up at the walls. “I like to see what I’m facing before I kill it.”

Dria smiled at her, proud of who she had become.

“Lady Tawn.” Dria heard another voice behind her and frowned. Nobody had called her that in a very long time. It was Brienne and she approached the small group.

“Ser Brienne.” Dria nodded in acknowledgement.

“I just wanted to say... may the mother have mercy on us all.” Brienne looked around at the small group.

“May the crone grant us the wisdom to be brave.” Arya said with a small nod.

“May the warrior loan us his strength.” Lyanna added.

“Let us show the men what women can do.” Dria concluded, looking around at them all. There was a moment of solidarity and sisterhood that passed between them before the horn blew and they hurried to their posts, Brienne outside of the wall, Arya upon it, Lyanna in the courtyard with Dria.

Dria stood before her army and took a moment to take in the sights. A cloud of condensation erupted from her mouth as she composed herself.

“Now is not the time for glorious speeches.” She shouted, the courtyard falling silent as the doors were shut and barricaded behind Brienne. All on the walls turned to listen to Dria as she spoke, her voice carrying through the still air. “Now is not the time for heroes. Forget all you know of wars that have come before. Quieten your mind when it tells you to run, or parry. There is no putting off the inevitable, there is only biting back, standing firm and saying ‘no’. Either we die, or they do. There is no middle ground. Forget the armies you have faced, the foes you have felled, the sons you have slaughtered in the name of glory and honour. The enemy we face tonight is not smart. They are not cunning. They will not play mind games with you. They know only one thing and that is death. They are death. They are the very thing they peddle. We do not bow to death. We do not concede. We stand and we say,” She caught Arya’s eye up on the battlements, “not today.” Dria raised her spear in the air. “By the time the dawn breaks there will be only one victor, one winner, one outcome. Let it be that the living remain victorious!” There was an almighty cheer in response as Dria turned to face the doors, ready for the battle to come. Her eyes drifted over the high window where her son lay sleeping, far away from anyone, and then she put the thought from her mind. She had made her peace with all she could. Now was the time for fighting, and if the noise on the horizon was anything to go by it would be here soon enough. Dria gritted her teeth and gripped her spear. Everything in her whole life had led up to this night.

The battle progressed quickly. The dead wiped out what remained of the living, sweeping through them like pestilence. Before long the outer flanks retreated inwards. Even the light from the fire in the trenches did not keep them at bay. They were persistent, suffocating, relentless. The fleeing flanks swept into the courtyard in droves, taking a stand beside the Dauphinian and Mormont armies. Gendry was amongst them, briefly catching Dria’s eye and filling her with a new hope as the cries of the dead filled the air. Their time was coming, the time when those screams would die down for good. Their armies retreated further in, many of them finding the walls. With a blow of her spear Dria saved Ser Jorah’s life, and then another Ser Jaime’s. Both of them met her eye and managed a nod of thanks as they continued on their ascent to the battlements. The doors were breached and the dead climbed the walls. There was no more time for hesitation. Dria threw herself into combat with vigour, stabbing and slashing with her double-ended spear as the dead shattered around her and erupted in clouds of ice and bone and dust. Her weapon favoured her like water, both of them moving as one as the dragon-glass tip burst her enemy to fragments. Her face was grimy with it, her bodice deflecting their blows. They seemed to be holding them off or at least matching them in number and might. The dead were coming over the walls and surrounding them in the courtyard, sitting ducks.

Then came the giant.

Everything around them seemed to stop still as the giant burst in. Dria had seen giants before on more than one occasion but none like this. This was the biggest, the most brutal, it’s unseeing eye sockets empty as it swung with its club and felled half of Dria’s flank. She watched in horror as it swung again, ducking and diving out of the way.

“To me!” She managed to shout as she rolled back to her feet and raised her spear to strike. Not many answered her, less than a dozen rallying to her as she sent her spear to it. The weapon missed and Dria was knocked down by the club. She slid along the stones and watched, dazed, as the giant turned on her and her men.

Then, unmistakeably, a small figure stepped in the way with her sword raised and determination in her eyes. Dria could do nothing but watch as little Lyanna Mormont took her stand. The giant knocked her down but she got right back up, her ribs cracked, and ran towards the beast. It snatched her up, crushing her in its hand, and she drove a dragon-glass blade right into its eye. The giant burst and Lyanna fell to the ground. Dria covered her face from the dust that rained down and picked herself up, snatching up her spear and running to where Lyanna lay. Dria took a moment to mourn the girl and vow that her bravery would never be forgotten before driving a dragon-glass blade into her chest so that she would not return as one of them.

“Dria!” Aalto’s voice came from somewhere to her side and Dria looked up to see their position had been compromised entirely. The dead came in droves, indomitable. They had no choice but to draw back.

Dria scattered her forces, sending half to the Godswood with Aalto to reinforce the Ironborn, taking half with her. Dria found herself retreating into the castle with a handful of her loyal men to hold it from inside. They became the last defence against the dead. The battlements had fallen, the men upon them scattered, Gendry amongst them. Dria prayed to all Gods that he would survive the night as she made her way through the castle, fighting back the dead as she did. They could not let them take the castle. If they took the castle, there would be no hope and they would be dead by the dawn.

Dria found herself separated from her forces as she fled up the stairwells and ran through corridors, killing any and all wights that had made it inside from the battlements. She was blood-stained, tear-stained, ash-stained and exhausted but this was not the time to slow. She found the dragon-glass sword of a fallen soldier and wielded it along with her spear, fighting tooth and nail against the never ending onslaught. She fought hard but still she was beaten back. As she rounded a corner she found herself in a moment of peace and an empty corridor. She took the opportunity to lean against the wall and catch her breath, panting as she fought the urge to collapse in pain and fatigue. A moment of clarity and then she pushed on, knowing there would be more wights somewhere. She rounded another corner and ran straight into Arya, both of them raising their weapons and then embracing each other as they realised.

“You’re alive.” Dria panted in relief. She put a hand to the cut on Arya’s forehead but Arya brushed her off.

“For now.” Arya replied, just as beat. A smile passed between them and then the sound of the dead down the corridor caused them both to start and hurry back the way Dria had come, into the empty corridor. More screeches came from the end of the once peaceful hall and so Arya led the way towards the library.

“Wait.” Dria caught her arm as she made to enter, raising her weapon in explanation that they may not be alone in there. Arya nodded and slowly, quietly, opened the door. They slipped inside and kept to the walls. The library had two entrances. All they had to do was get to the other side, but, as Dria had suspected, they were not alone inside. The skirted the shelves, keeping together where possible as they avoided the handful of wights wandering around the aisles. Dria remembered what Bran had said to her before the battle began about upholding her vow. Perhaps it was fate that she had run into Arya when they were both in the midst of a battle. Through a series of silent gestures and mouthed words they made their way almost around the entirety of the library.

One misstep led them to dive under a table before the wight saw them. Dria gestured for Arya to crawl to the shelf as she knocked a book off of the table with her sword and, when the wight turned to look at it, dived out behind it and stabbed it from behind with her spear, covering it’s zombified mouth so that it couldn’t screech. It felt vile beneath her fingers but her muffle did the trick. Dria dropped to the shelf beside Arya and a look of achievement and acknowledgement passed between them. Arya threw a book to draw them away and they made their way to the door, Arya killing a wight on the way before they both slipped through it and shut the door quietly. Dria smiled at Arya, silently telling her how proud she was of the way they had managed that, and then the sound of screeching ricocheted off the walls.

Before they could react the doors burst open and wights fell over themselves to crash through from the library and the chamber that lay next to it. Arya and Dria fought well together, their fighting styles complimenting each other as they swung at the wights and turned many to dust. But they were overrun. They retreated, fleeing, down a corridor as they stabbed blindly behind them. They were outnumbered. They fled down a stairwell and found themselves face to face with Beric and the Hound. Beric hurried forwards to put himself between them and the wights as the Hound dragged them down the corridor. Time and time again Beric allowed himself to be stabbed and bitten by the wights as Sandor dragged Arya away. Dria was caught inbetween, helping Beric where she could whilst he shouted at her to run. She refused, helping him fight them off until they were both trapped at the end of the corridor.

“We have to go!” Sandor shouted, physically lifting Arya and running with her. Dria was torn, wanting to save Beric but knowing she had to go with Arya. Beric caught her hand as he put himself between her and the wights.

“Protect her at all costs.” Beric said, his one eye meeting Dria’s with a knowing look. Dria blinked at him, for a moment misunderstanding. Then, as her brain aligned his words with Bran’s warning, she nodded. “My sword.” Beric said weakly as he was stabbed again and again. Dria picked up his sword, still aflame, and used it to kill the wights around him, hooking him under her arm and carrying him down the corridor as he deadweighted into her. “The truth is all around you, plain to behold.” He choked as they fled. Sandor was up ahead, Arya beside him, and he opened the door to the great hall so that they could flee inside. Dria helped Beric through, her knees buckling under his weight as the Hound barricaded the door behind them. Dria dropped his flaming sword beside Beric as he slumped against the wall.

“The night is dark and full of terrors...” Beric’s eye met hers before sliding to Arya and back, confirming what he had tried to tell her before. She held his hands tightly and nodded, showing him she had understood. He coughed, the ground around him slowly seeping red. “My... sword...” Beric coughed up blood as Arya and Sandor watched on. Dria nodded, knowing his meaning, and picked up the flaming sword once more.

“The day bright and beautiful and full of hope.” Dria finished for him. He smiled at her in acknowledgement and she plunged the flaming sword into his chest. He caught alight and with a staggered gasp of terror, Dria let Sandor drag her and Arya backwards away from his corpse.

“The Lord brought him back for a purpose.” A voice came from behind them and they turned, ready to fight, to see the red woman stepping from the shadows. “Now that purpose has been served.”

Dria looked around her at the corpses on the ground, the light from Beric’s pyre casting shadows on the walls.

“What are you doing here? Hiding like a coward whilst we risk our lives.” Dria shot at her.

“Always so quick to look for blame.” Melisandre shook her head at Dria. “I thought your experiences would have mellowed you.”

“I’ve been fighting for my life and the lives of everyone I care about for the last few hours so you’ll forgive me if I’m not mellow.” Dria snarled.

“You’ll have to be to fulfil the path chosen for you.” Melisandre stepped towards Dria, her red cloak dragging on the ground.

Dria scowled at her. “What path?” She demanded.

“The Lord of Light has chosen you.” Melisandre put her uncharacteristically warm hand on Dria’s bloodstained cheek. “Why do you think I wanted to know you all those years ago.”

“No.” Dria clenched her jaw. “You wanted to kill me. You wanted to kill Gendry.”

“Ser Davos does not understand these matters.” Melisandre shook her head. “You have been given the gift of sight. You will take my place when I am gone.”

Dria stared at her, her eyes wide. Melisandre looked back, her expression cool. Dria shook her head and wrenched her head from Melisandre’s hand. “Never. I do not believe in your Lord of Light.” She swallowed as Melisandre looked at her heavily.

“Perhaps. But you have seen what he can do.” Melisandre looked at her intensely. “Do you not want the powers he has bestowed upon you?”

“What good are they? All they do is cause death...”

“And life.” Melisandre reminded her.

“No.” Dria shook her head. “If all he does is bring people back to fulfil some great purpose I don’t want his power. People should decide their destiny, not some God.” Dria pointed to Beric. “Not if this is what fate awaits those he resurrects. Was Jon brought back for a purpose, too?”

Melisandre gave Dria a look that stated the obvious, before shaking her head exasperatedly and turning to Arya with a sigh, done with this conversation and with Dria.

“I know you.” Arya wiped blood from her forehead. “You said we’d meet again.”

Dria watched the interaction with a scowl. The sound of fighting continued outside. She knew she should be there with her troops fighting alongside them. But something about Beric’s dying knowledge plagued her, and Bran’s warning. She knew she had to stick with Arya. Even more so when Melisandre dropped her final piece of prophetic advice.

“Blue eyes.” She said coolly.

In that moment both Arya and Dria knew what she meant. They looked at each other, Dria’s heart hammering.

“Godswood.” They said in unison.

Dria and Arya made for the door, hurrying out into the battle and fighting their way through to the wall. Things were much quieter, it seemed they were winning. That was until the dead began to rise, resurrected.

“He’s close.” Dria shouted to Arya. They made their way to the entrance to the Godswood but their path was blocked by the risen soldiers. “Go!” Dria shouted, “I’ve got this!”

Arya looked at her worriedly but Dria pushed her away with a small smile. She stood her ground as Arya slipped passed, fighting ferociously and felling people she had once known as friends. Aalto was amongst them and her heart pined for his family as she cut him down once more. She reminded herself it had not been her who had killed him but death itself. It did not take her long to become overrun by soldiers. She backed up against the wall, swinging her sword and spear combination but hardly making a dent. She was tiring.

“Dria!” A familiar voice shouted as a sword cleaved in front of her and cut off the head of the wight she hadn’t seen. Jon came into view, his head cut and covered in the same grime Dria was. He hurried to her, checking she was okay, before they nodded in companionable agreement and turned back to back, fighting the group of wights together. They had fought many battles by the point and knew they worked well as a team. They seemed to be winning as the wights fell one by one. The courtyard was filled with the writhing forms of the undead.

Then came the dragon. Jon and Dria looked up, clocking it at the same time, and with a look to each other they dived behind a pillar to avoid its flame. Jon held Dria to him, his sword behind her and her spear between them as the flames engulfed the space around them, blue and made of icy fire. Jon scanned her face as they spoke silently, knowing each other so well that they could agree on the play without speaking. They span out either side of the pillar, cut down a few wights and made for the dragon but it was too big and too strong, it beat them down and the cowered behind a boulder.

“I have to get to the Godswood.” Dria shouted over the noise in the courtyard.

“The Godswood?!” Jon questioned, but the look on Dria’s face quietened him. He nodded. “I’ll cover you.”

Dria smiled at him in thanks and, on his signal, made for the Godswood.

When she arrived it was to the sight of the many commanders of the army of the dead standing in a semi-circle whilst the Night King approached Bran. Theon had been slain, Dria’s eyes fell on his open glassy ones as she hid behind a tree. Dria scanned the perimeter and clocked Arya opposite from where she was. She couldn’t get past the Night Kings’ most loyal.

Arya’s eyes fell on Dria and she gave her a look that told her to trust her. Arya nodded and pulled her knife from her belt. Dria, closing her eyes for a split second and praying that the Gods would keep her betrothed and son alive and safe if she were to die, raised her spear and ran out from her hiding place with an almighty scream. She stabbed one of the officers in the back of the knee with her spear, spinning around and drawing all eyes to her.

“Show me what you’ve got.” She said, bracing herself as they engaged her in combat. One sliced her arm and she dropped the sword. Within seconds her spear had been cut in two and she was surrounded with sword points to her neck as they looked to the Night King for command. It had been enough. As Dria stood in the middle of them accepting her fate, she saw a blur of black rush towards the Night King. She gasped as Arya was lifted off her feet, realising it had all been for nought. Dria closed her eyes, preparing for her death, thinking of her family... but it did not come.

Dria opened her eyes as the sound of skittering swords surrounded her. The White Walkers who had stood before her turned to shattered ice on the ground as Arya fell from where the Night King had held her. Her blade had found its mark. It was over.

A moment passed between Arya and Dria as they looked around them, hardly daring to believe it was over. With an incredulous laugh from them both, they hurried to one another and held each other close. Dria had kept her promise and she saw Bran give her a minute nod of approval as he surveyed the scene.

“It’s over.” Dria shook her head incredulously. Then thoughts raced through her mind and she turned on her heel and ran from the Godswood and into the courtyard. Jon was standing where she had left him staring at the dusty remains of the ice dragon. He offered Dria a small smile of victory. Gendry, seeing Dria, shouted her name and slid from his place atop the barricade. She hurried to him and let him pick her up and kiss her in sheer relief. He set her down and she met his eye, both of them with the same thought as horror struck them. The war may be over, but there was much recovery to undertake.

“Benjen.” They said in unison.

Gendry took Dria’s hand and they ran full-pelt through the corpses and into the castle. Jon, seeing them, hurried after them through the halls. Benjen may not be his son by blood but he had helped raise the child and was every bit as invested. They ran through the corpse scattered hallways and up stairwells, their hearts pounding as the bodies of wights multiplied. Dria felt her heart in her mouth as she dreaded the worst. They reached the top floor corridor and Dria released Gendry’s hand to overtake him, her mothering instinct overcoming her exhaustion. She faltered as the door was ajar and stopped in her tracks as Gendry and Jon reached her.

She could see through the gap that there were corpses in the room. She looked in horror at Gendry who swallowed hard, tears in his eyes, and met Jon’s eye. Jon offered him a small nod of solidarity as they pushed open the door.

There were at least five wights in the room and the body of Avisa lay amongst them. Her dragon-glass sword was still in her hand as her eyes stared unblinking at the sky. She had died from the gash in her neck as it had been torn open.

Dria sobbed and looked away from her, surveying the room for any sign of her son.

“Dria.” Gendry said as he reached the other side of the bed. Dria gasped and hurried to him as he stooped to pick up the limp body of Benjen. He laid the boy on the bed as Dria threw herself down beside him, pawing at his tiny face and begging him to wake. Gendry reached for his wrist and gripped his tiny hand in his.

“Benji...” Dria sobbed, laying her head on his chest.

Jon watched on as tears stained his cheeks.

Then, as if by some miracle, Dria sat up and stared at the boy. She had heard his heartbeat through his chest at the same time Gendry had felt his pulse.

“Benjen?!” Dria called, stroking her sons face.

“Dria.” Jon held up a bottle from the bedside cabinet. “Milk of the Poppy.”

“Avisa.” Gendry realised at the same time as Jon. “She must have given him enough to make him appear dead. Staged it so the wights wouldn’t attack.” He looked gratefully at Avisa’s corpse as Jon gently closed her unseeing eyes. Dria breathed out, hardly daring to believe it. She leant down and gently kissed her son, praying that he had not been given too much.

Benjen spluttered and opened his eyes drowsily. “Mother?” He asked cautiously. Dria cried out in happiness and held him to her, cradling him as Gendry threw his arms around both of them. Gendry met Jon’s eye as he smiled in a melancholy happiness and left the family to it.

“I’m here baby.” Dria sobbed as she rocked the drowsy Benji. “I’m here. We did it. We’re safe.” She met Gendry’s eye and sobbed with happiness, her hand on his cheek as though she couldn’t believe it was real. He smiled and kissed her, then Benji’s head as they let the weight of the long night wash over them.

They had done it. They had survived.

The long night was over.


	39. Episode 8: The Ending That Was Promised (Pt. 4)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the Long Night Dria finds herself rewarded in a way she never believed possible.

The celebrations could be heard across the vast plains outside of Winterfell where the pyres of the dead still burned. Walking through the courtyard one could be forgiven for forgetting a great battle took place here mere hours ago. The clean-up had been swift, the bodies cleared and burned, the snow covering what remained of the blood and sweat and piss on the ground. A feast was being held in the great hall and the courtyard in celebration. The laughter and cheering filling the air cheered the weary souls within.

Dria sat up at the top table between Tormund and Ser Davos, the innermost council of Jon’s war cabinet. She had earned her place in the battle and now it felt good to celebrate. Gendry had been offered to join her by Jon but he had politely declined, reminding Jon that even if he was Dria’s consort he was still a bastard and had no place at high tables. Halfway through the feast he had disappeared to put a sleeping Benjen to bed. The boy seemed to not have been affected in the slightest by the battle or what had happened within it. Gendry had returned and met Dria’s smiling eyes as he returned the expression and took his seat with Sandor. Dria didn’t notice Daenerys watching her as she raised a glass to Gendry and he returned the gesture before engaging Sandor in conversation. 

“He’s a good lad.” Ser Davos said, also noticing the interaction. Dria turned to Davos and nodded with a smile.

“He is.”

“Are you going to marry him?” Davos did not meet Dria’s eye but there was a twinkle in his.

Dria blinked at him. “What kind of a question is that?”

“Well...” Davos shrugged. “You both survived the Great War, you have a son together, you clearly love him and he you. Why not?”

Dria shook her head at him incredulously. “It’s not that simple.”

“You don’t want to marry him?” Davos asked.

“I do.” Dria said quickly with a glance to Jon. He wasn’t listening but she lowered her voice all the same. “Of course I do. You know just how much. I actually asked him the night of the battle.”

“You asked him?” Davos cocked an eyebrow.

“Well, he asked me last time.” Dria giggled. “I thought it was only fair.” He smiled faded and Davos scowled.

“Then what are you waiting for?” Davos prompted.

Dria met his eye. “The war isn’t done, Ser Davos. I can’t just drop everything and marry him and live a life of solitude and be a fat housewife who exists only to birth sons.” She hesitated, her hand finding her stomach subconsciously in a way that made Davos frown. “They’d all be bastards anyway. Gendry has no name, and so nor does his offspring.” She quietened and looked at her plate, suddenly not hungry.

Davos sighed and pushed his own away, drawing Dria’s full attention to him as he took her hands. “Dria. My child. We get a very small window of opportunity for happiness in this sick, diseased, war-ridden world. So what if your children are bastards? Does it mean you and Gendry will love them any less? The way bastards are viewed is changing. Look at Jon Snow. A bastard and a good man and now a king. Look at Gendry. A bastard and a good man and full of more love than anyone.” Davos squeezed her cold fingers. “Don’t lose the chance. Make this one count.”

Dria met his eye, knowing he was right. She nodded minutely and he grinned.

“That’s my girl.” He patted her hands in his.

“Gendry.” Daenerys’ voice suddenly rang out across the hall and Dria and Davos turned to see Gendry on his feet as though making to leave. They turned their attention to the Dragon Queen as she seemed determined to address him. Gendry looked at Dria with a frown of fear and then back at Daenerys. Dria’s heart pounded. Had Daenerys learned the truth? Had Jon told her? Dria tried to determine from Jon’s expression what was happening but he simply shook his head at her, as perplexed as she. “It is Gendry, isn’t it?” Daenerys continued, either oblivious or ignoring those around her.

“Yes, your grace.” Gendry bowed his head awkwardly and turned to face Daenerys properly.

She smiled. There was a long pause as she looked to Dria, her expression unreadable, and then back at Gendry. “You’re Robert Baratheon’s son.”

There were murmurs filling the hall as Dria once again looked at Jon. He shook his head again to tell her he had not said a word. Dria’s stomach tightened as she looked to Daenerys and then to Gendry, urging him to say the right thing. He met her eye, blinked thoughtfully, and then turned back to the Queen.

“I am, your grace.” Gendry hung his head as the murmurs got louder. Dria got to her feet in spite of herself, ready to come to his aid. Davos put a hand on her wrist to stay her. Gendry swallowed hard as he waited. Dria watched Daenerys carefully as she kept her eyes fixed on him.

“You are aware he took my family’s throne and tried to have me murdered?” Daenerys spoke coolly.

Gendry shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t even know he was my father until after he was dead. He wasn’t exactly there for me.” Gendry caught himself as Daenerys twitched in amusement at his insolence.

“Yes.” She said. “His brothers are too. He has no living _recognised_ heir. So who’s Lord of Storms End now?” Daenerys’ eyes slid to Dria where she stood and then back to Gendry.

“I...” Gendry looked to Dria too, “I don’t know your grace.”

“Does anyone?” Daenerys looked around the room.

Dria frowned at the tabletop and then raised her voice, staring down the Queen in the process. “Ser Cortnay Penrose holds it in the absence of a Lord, your grace.” Dria explained. Daenerys turned to her and her eyebrow twitched.

“But this Ser Cortnay Penrose does not hold any claim to it?” She asked.

“No, your grace. He’s a placeholder. If a Baratheon heir is found he will give up his hold.” Dria explained with a sheepish glance to Gendry. She thought she knew Daenerys game and, if she could play it, she may fix more than one problem.

“He will just hand it over?” Daenerys asked.

“If I may,” Davos rose temporarily to his feet, his mind heavy with the conversation he had just held with his niece, “Ser Cortnay is a just and loyal man. He will indeed hand it over to a rightful heir should one be found.” Davos sat again with a bow as Daenerys’ eyebrow twitched again, satisfied.

“Thank you.” Daenerys said to Davos and to Dria as she turned back to Gendry. “That settles it.”

“What does, your grace?” Gendry asked nervously.

“You shall be Lord of Storms End.” Daenerys said. The murmuring returned as Dria let out an incredulous gasp as she met Gendry’s eye.

“I can’t be.” Gendry shook his head. “I’m a bastard. I can hold no lands, I am no heir.” He glanced at Dria, ashamed, “I cannot further the line.” He cleared his throat and looked to the floor. Dria’s heart panged for him.

“No longer.” Daenerys replied sharply. The room fell silent. Dria watched the Queen carefully, still standing, willing her to say what Dria thought she was about to. “You are Lord Gendry Baratheon of Storms End, the lawful son of Robert Baratheon.” Dria beamed uncontrollably as Gendry looked in shock to Daenerys, then to Dria, and back. “That is what I have made you.”

“Your grace...I...” Gendry started arguing, but Daenerys cut him off by raising her glass.

“To Lord Gendry Baratheon of Storm’s End.” Daenerys said to a room full of cheer.

Dria shook her head incredulously as Gendry looked to her. The happiness and pride in her face was enough to convince him. Jon saw the look between them and handed Gendry his own goblet of wine to toast with, a smile on his face for the man who would care for the woman he loved. Gendry took the goblet and stumbled backwards to accept the toast and the room erupted in cheer again, everyone calling his name and cheering. Jon leant over to Daenerys to whisper in her ear. His glance to Dria went unnoticed, as did what he said.

Gendry turned to Dria from where he stood in the centre of the room and raised his glass to her minutely, a symbol of what would be their new life together. Dria blinked back tears of happiness as she returned the gesture.

“Tell me.” Daenerys spoke and the room died down again. Gendry turned back to her, his hands shaking with what had just happened. “Now you are a Lord... what will you do?”

Gendry stuttered in response. “I... I... I don’t know, your grace.”

“It is of my belief, and correct me if I’m wrong, but is it not advised for a Lord to take a wife.” Daenerys met his eyes with an expression that meant only one thing.

He nodded slowly. “It’s all I’ve wanted since I met her, your grace.” Gendry said, picking up on what Daenerys meant.

“Then why wait any longer.” Daenerys said smoothly.

Dria stared at the Dragon Queen in surprise as Jon shot her a knowing smile. Daenerys got to her feet behind the table. There was a pause as the room watched and waited. Then, with a calculated turn of her head, she held her hand out to Dria. Dria’s bottom jaw dropped as she looked from Daenerys to Gendry to Jon and back to Daenerys. Dria blinked away her shock and stammered.

“I’m not dressed for a ceremony, your grace.” Her argument was feeble as she met Gendry’s eye and smiled.

“I’ve always thought tradition could use a bit of a shake up.” Daenerys replied. “Will you join your betrothed?”

Dria found herself smiling at her in thanks to Daenerys as she glanced to Davos and, after he nodded with pride, stepped around the table and took Gendry’s outstretched hand.

“Still want to marry me?” Gendry whispered as Daenerys called for order and whispers surrounded them.

“Of course I do.” Dria whispered back.

“Even though I’m a Lord now?” Gendry’s eyes sparkled, still in disbelief.

“In spite of that.” Dria replied with a wide smile. Gendry chuckled at her and they turned to face Daenerys. “Is this really happening, your grace?” Dria asked incredulously as Jon and Daenerys stepped around the table to stand in front of them.

“Just as soon as we gather the necessities.”

“Here?” Dria realised what she meant. “This isn’t the Godswood.”

“Actually,” Jon chimed in, “To marry in Westeros you need only one of three things: a Godstree, a temple, or a Maester.” He gestured behind Dria where she turned to see Sam stepping up to them.

“A Maester in training will do in the presence of royalty.” Sam smiled at her and glanced to Daenerys.

Dria laughed uncontrollably as she took it all in, then she frowned. “We don’t have a cloak.” Dria’s voice filled with panic.

“You do.” Davos’ voice came from behind her and he handed Gendry his own. “And you’ll be given away too by the closest family you have.” He smiled at her and she smiled back.

“Okay.” Dria laughed incredulously, looking up to where Gendry was beaming at her. “I’m ready.”

Less than five minutes later and the hall filled with cheers and applause as the newly-wed Lord and Lady Baratheon embraced, sealing their union. It was much more high profile than Dria’s last wedding and she was grateful to have those she loved with her.

Gendry and Dria retired shortly afterwards to perform the bedding ceremony and talk about what had just happened. As Dria lay in his arms, their bodies entwined, she found peace for the first time in a long time. He teased her about knowing her measurements, kissed her nose and welcomed their new life together. The happiness and future growing inside her was hard to hide now but with her new name she would not have to worry as she had before. This was the mark of a new chapter. She simply had to embrace it.

Jon seemed to think the same as he called her to his quarters after the briefing the following day. It had not gone well, the amount of troops remaining to them was scarce, but that did not seem to be what weighed on Jon’s mind. The smile he offered her as she entered did not quite meet his eyes.

“Congratulations, my lady.” Jon bowed his head as she closed the door. Dria scoffed and shook her head at him as he rolled his eyes. “Lady Baratheon. What would Lord Stark say to that.”

“What would King Robert say to that.” Dria laughed. “It hasn’t sunk in. I don’t think it will until I see Storms End.” She scoffed again. “How did I go from refugee to Lady of Storms End.” She blinked. “Part of me thinks its part of the Dragon Queen’s game. She thinks I’ll be loyal to her.”

“Won’t you?” Jon looked at her carefully.

“I’m loyal to you, Jon. I always have been. If you think allying ourselves with Daenerys is the right thing to do then so be it. But just because she gave my husband a castle and a name...” Dria faltered. “... when she hasn’t for you.” She swallowed.

“She’s threatened by you.” Jon said. “You know it, I know it. She thinks by making Gendry Lord Baratheon and you his wife she’ll hinder any thought you might have of taking her crown.”

“Taking her crown?” Dria laughed incredulously. Jon was not laughing as he met her eye, serious.

“You would make a great Queen, Dria.” Jon said in a hushed voice with a glance to the closed door. “And what Daenerys doesn’t realise is that, by making Gendry a Baratheon, she has put him in line.”

“The Baratheon’s were usurpers.” Dria argued. “They have no claim to the throne now.”

“Don’t they.” Jon blinked at her. He lowered his voice to little more than inaudible. “Gendry is a well-liked man with royal blood whether he likes it or not. You have a healthy son. And now he has you as a wife, former Queen of the North and a warrior too. Daenerys is threatened by that, so she thinks by giving you a title you’ll be happy to exist in Storms End and leave her alone, not paying heed to Gendry’s right as I am not to mine.” Dria frowned at him. She hadn’t even thought about it...

“Either way.” She swallowed hard. “I don’t want it. Daenerys should know that. I’m not the type to be Queen... I don’t even have the ability to be a good mother.” She scoffed. “So if that was her soul reason for legitimising Gendry and making me his Lady, so we’ll be loyal, she doesn’t understand me as well as she thinks.”

Jon smiled at her. “That’s dangerous talk.” He teased.

“Are you going to tell her?” Dria teased him back, her eyes sparkling. She sighed. “Me as a Lady... I don’t believe it.”

“You should.” Jon’s eyes softened as he looked at her. “You deserve it. You deserve everything.”

Dria met his eye and smiled in thanks. “Nothing has changed. I have no delusions of grandeur.” She deflected. “I’m still your Captain. I won’t be seeing Storms End for a long time yet.” She fiddled with the wooden figures on the table between them, her smile fading. “If ever.” There was a long battle ahead yet.

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Jon said. Dria frowned at him. His words were followed by a long pause as he avoided her eye. “I’m not taking you to Kings Landing.”

“What?” Dria blinked at him. “Of course you are. I’m your Captain... you need me.”

“What I need, Dria, is for you to leave.” Jon met her eye quicker than he had desired. This was so very hard for him, she knew it. She blinked back tears and swallowed hard.

“You don’t want me there?” She tried to keep her voice calm. “Jon... without me you’d be dead several times over. Arya would be dead.” She stammered as she tried to think of an argument.

“It’s not that I don’t want you.” Jon said softly, appealingly. “Or need you. You know that’s not true.” Jon shook his head. “But this isn’t about me. Or even you, really.” He sighed. “It’s about what happened last night. It’s about the child sleeping upstairs.” He swallowed hard. “It’s about the one you are carrying right now.”

Dria’s eyes widened and she shifted uncomfortably. She had had no idea he had known. Gendry had only found out the night before when he had looked at her properly for the first time in months.

“Jon...” Dria started but he held up a hand to stop her.

“It’s time for me to stop being selfish. It’s time for you to realise that you should have different priorities. You fought in a battle and endangered not only yourself but another child.” Jon shook his head at her. “If you lost this one I would never be able to burden the shame.”

“What shame?” Dria asked hotly. “It’s not your shame to bear. It was my choice to fight. I could never have sat idle and let other people fight my battle. Baby or no baby... if you had died and I had lived because I hid... that is a shame I could not bear.” Dria put her hands on her stomach. “Losing our child was not your fault.”

Jon blinked back tears as he looked at her. He looked at her for a long time. “Even so.” He said eventually. “If I do not speak up now and stop you losing another in a fight that is not your fight...” He met her eye. “It would kill me.”

Dria felt her breath catch as she saw the vulnerability in his face.

“Dria. I care about you more than anyone. I know you would fight alongside me for as long as I need you to. And that is selfish. I cannot need you anymore. You are no longer mine to need. And that is why I am relieving you of your duties.” Dria frowned at him but did not argue. “From this moment on you are no longer my Captain of the Guard. You and I have no ties except those of friendship. I want you to pack your belongings, take your husband and your son and go home.” He swallowed hard as Dria felt a tear roll down her cheek. “This is the end of your war. Go and be a mother and a wife and a Lady.” Jon looked away from her, finally breaking the heartbreaking contact he had held with her eyes as he spoke.

Dria swallowed back her tears trying to think of what would be the right thing to say. The truth was there was no way to sum up the last years of her life that she had spent fighting beside him. He had shown her how to be a warrior, how to stand up for herself and how to win wars.

“I’m honoured to know you, Jon Snow.” She managed through her cracked voice, “If this is to be the parting of the ways then I need you to know...” She took a deep breath and spoke from her heart. “I would have followed you anywhere.”

After he did not meet her eye for fear of breaking down she simply left the room, tears streaming down her cheeks. She was not ready to say goodbye to it but she knew it was the right thing to do. For the good of her family and her future.

When Gendry found her she was sitting on the end of their bed stroking her stomach whilst Benjen played with wooden horses at her feet. He couldn’t help but smile at the view, but when he saw her face his smile faded.

“Benji...” Gendry said, stooping to his son’s level, “Sansa is in the chamber next door with Oswen. Why don’t you go and play there for a bit whilst I talk to your mother?”

Benjen took himself off as Dria met Gendry’s eye and forced a smile. He didn’t buy it as he sat beside her and put a hand on her cheek.

“What is it?” He could see right through her mask. Her smile faded and she sighed.

“I’ve been dismissed.” She said. “Under orders to leave Winterfell.”

“You’re not going to Kings Landing?” Gendry asked, the relief in his voice apparent.

Dria shook her head. “I’m no longer Captain. I am nothing. Jon thinks it best if I focus on other things.” She cradled her stomach. Gendry gently put his hand on hers.

“You are not now nor have you ever been nothing.” Gendry rested his head against hers to whisper in her ear. She fought tears. “Jon set you free so that you can simply shift.”

“What if I don’t want to?” Dria shrugged. “What if I don’t know how?” She sobbed. “All I’ve been is a fighter. I fought to survive civil war. I fought to establish myself in Winterfell. I fought to protect Arya. I fought to preserve Ned Stark’s dying wish. I fought and I fought and I fought. I don’t know anything else.”

“You know plenty.” Gendry stroked her neck softly. “You know how to fight, yes, but that’s not all you are. You are a loyal friend, a fierce lover, a wonderful mother. It’s not one or the other, Dria. You can be all those things at once. The time may still come for you to fight. But first, priorities.” He ran his thumb over her stomach. “Let yourself recuperate.“

Dria rested her head against his and sighed, knowing he was right.

“When did you get so smart?” She asked softly.

“I’m a Lord now, you know.” Gendry chuckled. “Besides, I’m going to need you. I don’t know the first thing about being anything other than a bastard and a blacksmith.”

“You think I do?”

“I figured you taught Arya all she knows, so why not?” Gendry kissed her. “I love you. Whatever is coming, we’ll get through it together. And I will always love you whatever you are.”

Dria smiled and nodded, kissing him again. Perhaps Daenerys had a point. Perhaps this new life of motherhood and Ladyship would suffice Dria. She had never wanted much more than she had. Being happy is all Dria had strived for all her life. But still... Jon’s words. _You would make a great Queen.  
_

She pushed all thought of it from her mind. She did not want more than she had, and what she had was finally happy. 


	40. Chapter 8: The Ending That Was Promised (Pt. 5)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valar Moris.

Saying goodbye was the hardest thing Dria had ever done. It was so difficult that very few words were exchanged as she, Gendry and Benjen bid farewell to Jon, Arya, Sansa, Bran and Davos. Daenerys wished them well and couldn’t help the smirk on her lips as she did so. Dria had called her game all along. She had been right.

“Promise you’ll look after yourself?” Jon asked as he gently touched her face and then her stomach. “And your family?”

“If you’ll look after yours?” Dria sniffed. The last time they had said ‘goodbye’ in the walls of Winterfell it had been a long time ago and a whole other life. Jon nodded and swallowed hard before turning to Gendry.

“Look after her, my Lord.” He took Gendry’s hand and shook it.

“Try and stop me.” Gendry replied with a firm shake.

“Thank you for all you’ve done.” Jon added. He wasn’t just talking about the war. Gendry met his eye, understanding passing between them, and he nodded.

“Do you have to go?” Arya asked Dria as she stood beside Sansa. Both of them had grown so much but in that moment they felt like little girls in Kings Landing once again. Dria looked between both of them, Sansa holding Oswen in her arms, and let out a shaking breath.

“We all have our duties.” Dria replied. She pulled them both in to hold them tight. “Take care of yourselves.” She kissed them both on their cheeks and found tear tracks on both. She gently touched Sansa’s chin. “I’m so proud of you. Your mother would be so proud.”

Sansa sniffed and Dria turned to Arya.

“Take care of them all.” She said quietly. “Do me proud?”

Arya nodded and gripped her sword as she blinked back more tears.

“Lady Baratheon.” Daenerys said, drawing Dria’s attention. Dria swallowed and bobbed her head to the Dragon Queen.

“Your Grace. Thank you. And... good luck.” She said determinedly.

“I expect you in court once I have my throne.” Daenerys put her hands on Dria’s arms in an overly friendly, slightly controlling embrace. “Once your child is born.”

“Of course, your Grace.” Dria blinked at her. She had no intention of ever setting foot in Daenerys’ court.

“I see much of myself in you.” Daenerys said. It wasn’t a compliment, but a threat. Dria swallowed and chose to smile at her.

“Dria.” Gendry said as he lifted Benjen into the cart, ready to go. Dria nodded and sniffed. She curtseyed to Daenerys and stepped backwards to take in her family.

“I expect you all to visit very soon.” She said, trying to be positive. They laughed in response. Dria turned to climb into the cart but was stopped by Bran.

“Dria.” Bran said in his monotone of a voice. Dria turned to him. He gestured for her come closer. She glanced around and did as she was bid. “Once you get home,” He said in a quiet voice, “Check your family tree.”

Dria frowned at him deeply. What did that have to do with anything?

“The Prince that was Promised.” Bran looked to where Benjen was waving enthusiastically before looking back at Dria. Dria frowned at him. “ _If memory serves she took his name. Perhaps we are related._ ” Bran quoted. Dria’s eyes widened as he finished reciting Daenerys’ own words from their very first meeting. Bran’s eyes slid past Dria to Gendry and then back. “The stag, the dragon, the dolphin.” He said as though that finalised all. Dria swallowed hard and, in an act to cover her shock, leaned down to kiss his cheek.

“Take care of yourself, Bran.” She said. She scooped up her cloak and returned to the cart, her mind reeling. Did that mean...

Gendry was already onboard and reached down to help her up, but before she could take his hand she felt firm hands around her waist, gently. She turned to see Davos and threw her arms unceremoniously around his neck in an embrace.

“Stay safe, little one.” He said in her ear, his voice thick.

“You too. This isn’t goodbye, uncle. I will see you again.” Dria said softly.

“I don’t doubt it.” Davos smiled back at her.

Dria kissed his cheek and let him help her up into the cart. His eyes were filled with tears as she settled beside Gendry, Benjen in-between.

“Oh, before I forget.” Davos reached into his cloak and pulled out a wooden stag that he had whittled. “I made one just like this for...” He cleared his throat and held it out to Benjen, who took it. “A worthy prize for a worthy Baratheon heir.” He winked at Benjen who grinned. Gendry ruffled his sons curled black hair and then picked up the reins. Davos stepped back, blowing Dria a kiss as Gendry steered the cart out of the courtyard and away from Winterfell. Dria turned in her seat to wave goodbye to the only family she had ever known before the gates shut and she lost sight.

They trotted in silence down the Kingsroad, the remaining Dauphinian troops riding amongst them for safety, as Dria stroked her bump and thought about what Bran had said. She had completely forgotten about Daenerys’ comment. It had seemed so far-fetched that she, Dria, a refugee, would ever be related to royalty. Even now, a Baratheon, her only connection was to the usurper. What had Bran meant by ‘read your family tree’. Was he simply planting seeds? Or did he know something?

“Are you okay?” Gendry asked as the day wore on and Benjen began to yawn and lean against his mothers skirts, his eyes closing.

“Never better.” Dria replied with a small smile.

He returned it and leaned over to kiss her. “My lady.” He said.

“My lord.”

“I told you we’d get here.” He said with a wink. “I always knew.”

“No you didn’t.” Dria giggled and ran her fingers over his shorn hair. “But I admire your belief all the same.”

“We’re nothing without belief.” Gendry shrugged wisely. Dria chuckled at him and stroked down his back, her hand sliding across and winding in their sons hair as he slept between them. Her family. Perhaps now was the time to put her past behind her and start anew.

_The stag, the dragon, the dolphin._

A raven had been sent ahead to Storms End and the road had been cleared of Lannister troops so their passage was open. The Dauphinian guard were on alert all the same but their services were not needed. Storms End lived up to its name. It was a dismal castle on a cliff-top, but it was overlooking the ocean and that was all Dria cared about. Gendry was received with great awe and in a way he had never experienced. It warmed Dria’s heart to see as the servants doted upon him. The first few weeks of their new life were spent getting used to their new routines, finding the passages of the castle, learning their household staff. Dria gave Gendry discreet lessons in conducting himself as a Lord and by the fourth week of council meetings with the local townsfolk he was a natural. Dria had never been prouder.

It appeared, after the Storms End Maester had examined her, that she was more pregnant than they had believed. He announced that she was fast nearing the birthing cycle with only a few months to go, and he was pleased she would be giving birth in safety and comfort. He was a kind Maester, elderly, but Dria felt safe in his hands. She was prescribed bed-rest, however, as too much activity in early pregnancy may cause problems later down the line. She was more than happy to do so as she did not want to risk losing another baby, not when they were so close to having everything they wanted.

Restricted to her bed, Dria ordered her Captain and the Maester to keep her informed of any and all news from the Capital, especially with regard to the incoming siege. Gendry knew she was struggling with not being there and he was determined to keep her mind busy. He ordered scrolls and books to be brought in from the nearby towns so that she may be occupied. He knew retirement was difficult for her.

She had all but forgotten about Bran’s parting words or the exchange she had made with Daenerys all that time ago. That was until one of the books she was given spoke of a Niendass Targaryen, daughter of Maekon and Dyanna. She had been the youngest, according to the texts, and apparently liked to sing. She had dreamed of exploring the world and had found love in a young sailor from the Isle of Dauphin. She had been estranged from the Targaryen family for marrying him, a sailor named Celby.

Dria stared at the page, unable to believe it. She scrabbled through the pile of scrolls, leaning over her protruding belly to find the text she desired. It had been chosen especially on Gendry’s orders: the Documented History of Dauphin. She found it at the bottom of the pile on the sheets in front of her and thumbed through to the last documented family tree. Dria found her name, her fathers, followed it with her finger to her grandfather and then his father, Dria’s great-grandfather: Celby Tawn. He had never been in line to take over the Tawn family, had been happy as a sailor, but his brother’s illness and death meant Celby had taken the seat. Next to Celby’s name was simply one word: Niendass.

Dria launched out of bed and made it to the chamber-pot in time to throw up. She slumped onto the floor, her stomach swollen and her mind reeling. She had Targaryen blood. It was distant and diluted, but it was there.

_The stag, the dragon, the dolphin._

She remembered every dream she had ever had about wearing the crown, about being called ‘your Grace’, all the prophetic dreams that she had put down to being Queen in the North.

What if they hadn’t been? What if they had been more?

 _The Prince that was Promised._ She had heard that phrase so many times but not once had she thought that it referred to her son. He was not a Prince... yet... but she couldn’t help but wonder.

She was a Baratheon by marriage and had Targaryen blood. Aside from Daenerys and Jon, Dria had the next claim to the Iron Throne. She threw up again into the pot.

Dria was still on the floor when Gendry found her. She didn’t know how long she had been there. He called for a servant to clear the pot and he himself helped his wife back into bed.

“What is it, Dria?” He asked, taking in her clammy skin and expression as he tucked her back up and moved the books away to sit beside her.

“You have no desire to be King, right?” Dria met his eye.

“What?” Gendry laughed, putting the back of his hand to her forehead. “I’m only just learning to be a Lord, you think I’d be ready to be King?”

“Just... when Stannis said...”

“I was a boy then.” Gendry smiled at her. “Every little boy dreams of being King.” He frowned. “Why?”

Dria let out a sigh of relief. She had no desire to be Queen. Not really. She smiled at him and lay back on her pillows. “No reason.” She reached up to touch his face. “I’m so happy here with you.”

“Me too.” Gendry leaned down to kiss her. “You’re all I need.” He put a hand on her stomach lovingly.

“Any news from Kings Landing?” She asked as she watched Gendry stroke her belly.

Gendry hesitated. “A raven.” He nodded, avoiding her eye. He knew she wanted to be there. “The siege has begun.”

Dria clenched her jaw and felt the baby shift uncomfortably as she tensed. “May the Gods go with them.” She said quietly as she thought of all those she loved going in to a battle they were unlikely to win.

“Get some rest.” Gendry leaned down to kiss her again and got to his feet. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Dria replied, gripping his neck for a moment to hold his face close and kissing him again. She then watched him leave and stayed where she was, supine on the pillows with her hands on her stomach. She didn’t need the throne. All of her adult life she had heard people tell her she would make a good Queen but it had always been irrelevant. She hadn’t wanted it. She didn’t want it.

Did she?

The news from King Landing came days later. Gendry was sat on the bed with Dria, behind her so that she was resting against him, and Benjen sat cross-legged in front of them playing with his stag as Gendry read aloud from The Book of Heroes. The Maester came stumbling in with a parchment slip in his hand. Gendry stopped mid-sentence and Dria sat up as best she could in the late stages of pregnancy. They stared at the Maester as they waited for him to catch his breath.

“It’s done.” He said. “Kings Landing is won.”

“What?!” Dria and Gendry exclaimed in unison, exchanging glances and then looking back at the Maester.

“Kings Landing is won.” The Maester repeated, but there was something in his face that Dria frowned at.

“At what cost?” She asked, her heart pounding. Gendry gripped her tightly, supporting her.

“Many lives.” The Maester said.

“Jon Snow...” Dria asked in a hushed voice.

“Is who this is addressed from. To you, my lady.” He held up the parchment and Dria let out an audible gasp of relief. Gendry kissed the back of her shoulder in response to her relief.

“Then what is it?” He asked with a frown.

“The Dragon Queen is dead.” The Maester held out the parchment to Dria, who took it with trembling fingers. Dria swallowed hard as she once again remembered her claim to the throne, especially now Daenerys was gone. She hadn’t told anyone. She couldn’t. There hadn’t seemed much point.

“What does it say?” Gendry asked as Dria stared at the black letters. Dria blinked back the film of tears and forced herself to focus on Jon’s scrawl.

“ _My Lady Baratheon. Kings Landing is taken. We are triumphant, but the cost was many lives, including the life of Queen Daenerys... at my own hand.”_ Dria gasped. “What?”

“He killed her?” Gendry repeated. Dria shook her head, unable to believe it.

“ _My fate is to be decided.”_ Dria sobbed uncontrollably as she thought of Jon alone in a cell. “ _The Lords of Westeros are being requested to attend a council to determine an appropriate heir, and my fate.”_ Dria gasped again and her hand flew to her mouth as she shook her head. Gendry gently took the parchment from her as Benjen climbed as close to her as he could to comfort her, not knowing why.

“ _Lord Baratheon and yourself are requested to attend. I pray you will do so, Aeksio.”_ Gendry frowned. “How do we know this isn’t a ruse?” He looked to the Maester but Dria shook her head.

“What was the last word?” Dria asked numbly.

“Aeksio?” Gendry repeated. “What does it mean?”

“It’s Jon.” Dria nodded. She let out a shuddering sigh and pushed back the covers of the bed. “We must go.” She began to change into a gown and out of her nightdress.

“The Lords of Westeros are being requested to attend the council.” Gendry argued as he tried to get off the bed. “You should not come.”

“I’m not staying here when Jon is to be banished. I have to know why and what happened.” Dria met Gendry’s eye and gently touched his face. “Please.”

Gendry met her eye and nodded slowly. He knew she needed this.

“Organise the party.” Gendry ordered the Maester. The Maester nodded and took his leave. “What of the boy?” Gendry asked as Benjen flicked through the book, none the wiser.

“He comes too.” Dria replied firmly. She had a feeling they wouldn’t make it out of Kings Landing, one way or another.

“Are you sure?” Gendry frowned. “What if it’s...?”

“I’m sure.” Dria met his eye firmly. “Trust me, my love.”

Gendry looked back at her and sighed. “I do.”

Dria finished dressing and set about packing for their trip.

An hour later and they were on the road, heading North on the day long journey through the Stormlands. Dria knew she should tell Gendry the truth, but something stayed her tongue. She would see if it was necessary first, and pray Jon was still there when they arrived. She needed to know why he had done this deed, what had driven him to it.

Neither of them had expected to find Kings Landing in the state of ruin that they arrived to. Even the Dauphinian guard, who had grown up with Civil War, took offence at it. Refugees and survivors threw themselves at Gendry and Dria’s feet as they walked through the ash-strewn city to the Dragon Pit. An envoy had been sent to meet them and to clear a path and Dria’s heart-wrenched as she looked at the faces around her. She handed out gold where she could as Gendry walked close to her, their son in his arms. This had been where he grew up and now it was barely recognisable. Dria felt her heart-break as she looked into the faces of motherless children and cradled her swollen stomach close.

They arrived to the Dragon Pit and found themselves in the presence of Lord Robin of the Vale, as well as reunited with Lady Brienne and Samwell. There was no sign of Lord Tyrion, or Lord Varys, or the Hound. Dria felt dread in her stomach as they were shown into the circle. Her heart fell as she recognised the chairs.

They had been the chairs from her dream, set out in the same formation.

She had foreseen this but she had not known what it had meant.

“Hey.” Gendry said gently as he took her arm and helped her to take her seat, setting Benjen at their feet. He was not to leave their sight. Dria sank into the chair and felt herself shake with the reality. She just wanted to see Jon, to know that he was alright.

Ser Davos approached and they were reunited. He had little to say by way of explanation, only that Daenerys had ‘gone mad’ and Jon had had no choice but to end her life to save thousands. Davos then sat beside Dria and took her hand, squeezing it with what was left of his fingers.

A few moments later and they were reunited with Sansa, Bran and Arya as they were led into the pit. Dria struggled to her feet to hug them. They were all too stunned and melancholy for many pleasantries and sank back into their seats without much more to be said. It seemed none of them really knew what had happened. They were joined by Yara Greyjoy, Prince Martell and the other Noble Lords of the Houses of Westeros.

There were Unsullied everywhere and they looked angry, betrayed. Dria took a deep breath and tried to keep herself calm for her baby’s sake as proceedings began.

They started with Lord Tyrion being led out on chains and Sansa challenging them about Jon’s whereabouts. Greyworm was unlike Dria had ever seen him. He was angry, dangerous, almost. He would not see sense as Yara, Sansa and Davos engaged in an argument. Gendry took Dria’s hand and squeezed it as she closed her eyes in frustration.

When she opened them it was to Bran looking calmly in her direction. She frowned at him and looked away. She knew he knew that she knew the truth, but she didn’t have time for it. Not until she knew what was happening.

She was dragged from her thoughts by Lord Tyrion stating his final words of advice in an attempt to calm the situation.

“Jon’s fate is for our King or Queen to decide. We are the most powerful people in Westeros. We must choose one.”

The circle of Lords was silent as they all looked between each other. Dria lowered her gaze and avoided Bran’s eye, waiting to cast her vote and letting the others decide the contenders. Davos had been right. There had been too much war. This was a time for peace, and she would only stake her claim if the opportunity arose. She did not desire to create more conflict so late in the game.

Lord Tully stood up to stake his claim and was shot down by Sansa. Sam put his suggestion for a democracy of the people to decide on the King or Queen. Dria looked up at his words, hearing some merit in them, but when everyone started laughing she looked back at the floor. Her heart was in her mouth as she closed her eyes and tried to steady it. She stroked her stomach and tried to find something to hold onto as Tyrion spoke about why he was not nominating himself. Dria looked up at him as he walked past her, his eyes briefly meeting hers with an expression of understanding.

Then, quietly, he made a suggestion that the differing council seemed to alert to.

“Who has a better story than Bran the Broken?” He said, captivating them all. “I nominate Bran the Broken.”

There was silence as everyone considered his words. Nobody argued, and so Tyrion opened his mouth to declare Bran the King.

“No.” Bran said quietly.

Tyrion turned to frown at him and everyone followed suit. “I’m sorry?” He said. “You do not want to be King?”

“I am not the right person to rule.” Bran replied.

“Who has lived more than you?” Tyrion made to argue, but Bran held up a hand to silence him.

“You are kind, Lord Tyrion, but I am not the right choice.” Bran spoke calmly.

“Then who?” Tyrion argued.

There was a silence as Bran’s eyes slid slowly to Gendry.

“Me?!” Gendry exclaimed as all eyes turned to him, including his wife beside him.

“Gendry Baratheon is a man of the people. He grew up amongst them. He will be the best to rule the people, as Sam has said.” Bran said calmly. There was murmurings as people considered his words. “Why else would Daenerys have made him a Lord?”

Gendry looked at Dria for help but all she could do was shake her head. She was stunned by this turn of events.

“He’s a bastard...” Lord Robin argued, but Bran cut across him.

“He was. But he is now a Lord. And he is a good man. He will do what is right by the people. He has a healthy, living heir and another to come. He has a good wife. It is an image these Kingdoms need, not my broken form.” Bran spoke slowly and calmly. There were murmurs of agreement.

Gendry looked to Dria again and she shrugged slightly, telling him silently that if he wanted it he should take it.

Gendry looked to the floor and then slowly got to his feet. He cleared his throat awkwardly and looked around.

“I am humbled, my Lords, for your faith in me.” He smiled briefly at Bran before his smile faded and he looked back at the ground. Dria watched him carefully, her heart hammering. “But I cannot accept.”

There were angry murmurs but Gendry held up his hand.

“I cannot accept because I am not the right choice either.” He thought carefully about his words before looking around at them all in turn. “You are all correct. We need a ruler who cares for and will have the hearts and minds of all of the people, Lords and below. We need a ruler who knows how to fight but does not make battle their number one priority. We need a ruler who has known hardship and therefore will see to it that such fate is not shared by the people. We need a ruler...” He turned his head to Dria and her chest tightened, her lungs knocking all air out of her mouth in shock as all eyes turned to her, “... who will do what’s right. Who will do her duty, but not without morals. Who is strong in every sense of the word.” Dria’s jaw dropped as she looked back at him. Gendry smiled at her and then looked around at the council again. “My Lords and Ladies, I cannot accept because my role in life is to serve and consort to my wife, Adria. She is the only right choice.” Gendry sat back down beside Dria as she tracked him with her eyes, her face a mask of shock.

There was a moment, and then Ser Davos got to his feet. “All in favour of appointing Queen Adria Baratheon, first of her name.”

There was a unanimous vote of raised hands. Even Benjen at Dria’s feet raised his hand.

Dria looked around at them all, stunned. Then, slowly, she rose to her feet. Ser Davos helped her steady herself as she put her hands on her pregnant stomach. She took a few deep breaths as she let it sink in, all eyes fixed on her, and then she nodded. “I accept.”

“Long live Queen Adria Baratheon!” Came the answering chorus as Dria stared around at them all.

She met Bran’s eye. This had been his intention. It wasn’t that he wanted her to stake her claim based on her blood. He wanted her to think she had a chance, but in the end it was not her blood or her status.

Her first order of business was to declare the North a free and separate Kingdom, and that Sansa Stark should rule it. Her second was to declare a council of Lords to make major decisions. No one House would rise above the others, no one House would repeat the folly of the Targaryen’s and the Lannisters. Her third was to order Jon Snow be exiled but not executed. It seemed to appease the Unsullied and they filtered from the city.

“You can return, you know.” Dria said quietly as she watched Jon saddle his horse to ride North with his family.

“Your Grace.” Jon bowed. Dria smiled at him and shook her head.

“You don’t have to do that.” Dria wrapped her arms around her swollen belly as she looked at him. “You don’t have to go forever.” She said quietly.

“I do.” Jon nodded. “If I were to come back... it would undermine your rule.”

“Not even when Benjen gets married?” Dria asked with a small smile.

Jon’s eyes shone as he looked at her. “Maybe.” He smiled and kissed her cheek. “You seem happy, Dria.”

Dria took a deep breath and nodded. “You know, for the first time in my life... I think I am.”

“I always knew you’ve be destined for greatness.” Jon nodded. “My dad did too. That’s why he took a chance on you.”

Dria smiled and felt tears sting her eyes. “I love you, Jon Snow.” She hesitated, “You know... I can legitimise you, if you want?”

Jon blinked at her, then shook his head. “Nah. Sansa is the future of the Stark family. I doubt she’ll let her husband take the name from her.” They both laughed softly. “And as for the other half of me...” He met her eyes. “The Targaryen family should just die with Daenerys.” He kissed her hand gently. “I am a bastard, and that’s all I am. It’s all I want to be.”

“Will you marry Thoren when you reach the North?” Dria asked with warmth in her eyes.

“Who knows?” Jon shrugged. “Marriage may not be for me.” He sighed. “Children, though? Perhaps.”

“I wish you all the happiness in the world.” Dria said in a small voice, “Until the end of days.”

Jon smiled at her and, alone in the stable, gently kissed her on the lips for one last time. “And I you, Aeksio.” He said with a glimmer in his eye. Then, without another word, he climbed onto his horse and made for the Kingsroad.

Dria watched him go with sadness in her heart as he watched his shadow fade. She had said goodbye to him so many times, only this time she knew it was for good.

She turned on her heel and headed into the Red Keep. She had called her council to discuss the rebuilding of Kings Landing, including the installation of refugee houses and orphanages, splitting the budget to cover their upkeep so that all those living in poverty would not have to again. On her small council she had her husband who was appointed Chief of Builders and would be overseeing the project. Ser Davos, her hand, would also be present. As would Ser Brienne, her Captain of the Guard; Lord Tyrion, her Master of Coin; and Bran the Broken, her Master of Whisperers. She would not pass any decision without their approval. She had ordered a special round table for just that reason. She would not sit above any of her peers. It was democracy, and it was the future of Westeros.

As she took her seat at the circular table between her uncle and her husband she returned the encouraging smiles that met her and felt content in her role.

Her blood did not matter. Her marriage did not matter. Her status did not matter. She was a Baratheon, a Tawn, a Targaryen, a Stark, a Snow. They had voted her in for the person that she was. She had been refugeed, she had been raped, she had been stabbed, beaten, hunted, she had fought tyrants and led armies, she had mothered and she had lost babies, and she had survived it all. Now, after everything, she had been chosen for herself, nothing else. 

She, Adria Tawn, was Queen of the Six Kingdoms of Westeros.


	41. Epilogue: Until the End of Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thus ends Adria's account of life in the Middle Ground. 
> 
> Thank you for reading <3

For fifteen years the United Kingdom’s of Westeros lived in peace under the reign of Queen Adria, first of her name. Children born knew nothing of war or hunger or conflict. The country as a whole thrived, the winter subsided quickly and was replaced with the brightest, warmest summer in human memory and songs were sung of the Game of Thrones that had played out.

Queen Adria and her escort, King Gendry, ruled in peace and prosperity. They were beloved by the people, highborn and low alike. Their son, Benjen Baratheon, took after his father in every conceivable way. He was handsome, strong and kind-hearted and he would make a good King when his time came. In the meantime the eighteen year old Prince was to marry the love of his life. His younger brothers, Simeon and Robbert, had no desire to take the throne from him. They were to be made matches elsewhere. Simeon was to become Lord of Dauphin when he came of age, and Robbert Lord of Storms End. Their younger sister, Edwyn, or ‘Ned’, had yet to be found a suitor but as she was only ten she still had time. The family was a happy one, a perfect model for the Era of Prosperity under their parents reign.

Now, almost seven years to the day since the coronation, they were assembled in the Godswood of Winterfell for a very special occasion.

An excited and shaking Oswin Stark approached the Hearttree in the Godswood of Winterfell. Her adoptive mother Queen Sansa of the North stood off to her left, her red hair a crown of plaits, and Samwell Tarly, a friend of the family, prepared to perform the ceremony. Oswin was pleased to see every surviving member of the Stark family waiting to watch her say her vows. Her husband-to-be stood before her as she made her way towards him. He was tall and broad and dark haired and always looked at her with love in his eyes. They had been lucky. Most arranged marriages scarcely worked out so well, but there was something in Benjen Baratheon that she couldn’t help but love. He was good with a hammer, like his father, and gentle of heart like his mother.

His parents, the King and Queen, stood just off from him. They had not set foot in Winterfell since the Long Night. Beside them they stood with the pardoned Jon Snow who had returned to Westeros with his family, his wife Thoren and their brood of children, including nine year old Tormund, named for his grandfather. He was every bit of wild and he had caught the eye of the young Princess Edwyn. 

As the crowd turned to look at the approaching bride, Prince Benjen looked up. His stomach flipped as he looked at her. She was wearing a deep maroon gown with black brocade and fur lined tulip sleeving, just like, according to Sansa, her mother Edeline Bolton had worn. Her dark hair was teased about her face to hang in curled tendrels, the rest gathered up expertly in a braid. She wore a veil around her shoulders of whispy voil in a matching maroon, the colour of her mother’s House. Benjen could not remember ever loving her more than he did in this moment.

"You are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." Benjen whispered so Oswin could hear him. She blushed. She knew that somewhere, through the eyes of the Hearttree, her mother Edeline and father Robb were smiling down at her.

As Benjen and Oswin said their vows Dria rested her head against the shoulder of her husband in pride. The life that they had lived before the coronation seemed like a million years ago and a whole other life. She had not had any prophetic dreams in fifteen years. There had been little to no threat. The Kingdoms were happy. Her family was happy. And, as she looked up at her husband and he gently kissed her, she was happy. Until the end of days.

Fifteen years ago, in the midst of the Game of Thrones, it had been easy to get caught up in the war and the politics. Now, fifteen years later in the Era of Prosperity, it was hard to even remember how it had felt in the middle ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference, this scene links to my other Game of Thrones fic: The Wolf Queen, as published on Ao3 and which tells the story of the OC Edeline Bolton and her marriage to Robb Stark. It was always my intention to link these two fics together, as I will with the Thoren/Jon fic.


End file.
